A Lamb and her Shepherd
by Sweetwater Gal
Summary: In order to get to the Shepherd, one must get to His Lamb... [WIP chpt8 added]
1. Prologue & Chpt One

**A LAMB AND HER SHEPHERD**

**Author:** Sweetwater Gal

**Ratings:** starting w/ **PG13** but will eventually progress to an **R **for language and violence

**Summary/Teaser:** In order to get to the Shepherd, one must get to His Lamb...

**Spoilers:** Don't really know except just to let you know that this is a future/AU fic set in Joan's Senior Year of High School. Oh! Also, since I've started writing this post-_Anonymous, _any episodes after that _including_ what will take place in the first season finale, doesn't really apply to this fanfic.

**Disclaimer: **I own nada! Okay, I own the story line and a couple of original characters in which will be featured in this story, but other than that... well, Barbara Hall and CBS and Sony Entertainment own everything else on _JoA_. Including CgG, Adam Rove, and Gavin Price... those lucky bastards. But if those lucky bastards are reading this and want to "borrow and use" an idea or two or even a new character or two (for next season) from this fanfic, I will _not_ sue you but merely ask for a small fee that is asking you to contact me so that I could officially meet Kris Lemche (aka CuteGuy God). And the sad thing is; I'm not even kidding.

**Author's Warning/Disclaimer: **This is a complete work of _FICTION_. Any events/incidents that happen within this story aren't true and any similar real life occurrences is out of pure coincidence.I by no means necessary advocate any of the following acts of violence, especially that to be inflicted upon other people.

**Author's Note:** Okay... I can't help it because I've been bitten by this suspense bug, and it doesn't help that I've also been checking out Jeffrey Donovan from _Touching Evil _and Christopher Meloni from _L&O: SVU_. So those two shows have become somewhat an inspiration for this crime/drama/suspense story. I must apologize now if I happen to get any police/forensic/medical jargon incorrectly. Just like my "A Price to Pay" story, I'm going with limited resources, common sense, and memory from all those cop dramas.

There are sooo many elements to this story that I can't very well focus on the other two multi-chapter fics I've posted, which is unfortunate because, at least I think, that they're good stories. Because this story within itself has sooo many levels to consider, I'm focusing much of my energy and attention on this one so I also must apologize to those readers of the other two fics for the impending delay. Hopefully, this one will make it worth the wait... Oh! And I'll give a cookie to whoever can point out the USA original series crime fighting duo I gave a special shout-out reference to.

_JoAJoAJoAJoAJoAJoA_

**PROLOGUE**

_**Los Angeles - Apartment of Edna Gregory & Lucy Faden **_

_**April 12, 2006 - Wednesday**_

Edna Gregory... Twenty year old college student... Art History major with a minor in theology... As a hobby, Edna was an advice columnist for a local church's newsletter... Three days ago, she had just completed her deadline; answering a young woman's question on whether or not she should marry her boyfriend, who was opposed to marrying in a church... It would be her last column....

_"His child... His little child..."_

Edna had just returned home that early evening... entering her apartment... a small, comfortable apartment that she was sharing with her best friend... a best friend that she's known since high school... both girls deciding to attend the same college and room together because they've always been close... like sisters... they were going to be each other's Maid of Honor...

_"His child... A weak and fragile creation... like a lamb..."_

Edna was tired and in dire need of a relaxing, hot bath... her petite frame entered the bathroom and shutting the door from behind, though not locking it... after turning on the tub water and slipping out of her bathrobe, she removed the white scrunchie from her hair... undoing the ponytail and allowing her long brown locks to cascade down her back...

_"A delicate lamb within Your devoted flock..."_

Edna stepped into the tub as the steam swirled within the tiny bathroom space... she allowed the water to surround and hug her flesh... she began to breathe in the warm vapors... she started to close her eyes and welcome the calm sensation...

But then she saw him... the last sight her eyes were to ever witness...

_"Little lamb... Where is He?... Where is your Shepherd?..."_

Using his weight, he held his grasp tight around her soft neck... The fingers dug into her throat so deep as they began pushing her head under the water... Fingers grasping tightly until there could be no true barrier between her skin to his gloves except for the cool water surrounding both... water that was slowly being tainted with each strand of crimson caused by his fingers puncturing her flesh...

_"Little lamb, where is your shepherd?... Does He not hear your scream?... Doe He not know of your struggle to live?..."_

Slowly, he removed his grasp... gently, he knelt down and just stared at her blank eyes and still body... while one hand began to softly caress her forehead, another reached into his jacket... slowly he removed a small, white plush toy... a lamb... a toy lamb that he placed within her dead hands... a child's toy with the words **Edna gregory **scrawled on one side...

_"Does He not know that the wolf has fed off your delicate flesh?..."_

He knew her name was Edna Gregory... He knew the lifeless body before him was Edna Gregory... And He knew that she was not the last...

_"Little lamb, you are not His chosen one... His most favored... But I know who is... And she will soon know me..."_

_JoAJoAJoAJoAJoAJoA_

**CHAPTER ONE**

_**LAPD - Special Divisions - Serial Crime Unit HQ - Conference Room**_

_**April 13 2006 - Thursday**_

Homicides like these caused Detective Rita Samstone to wonder why she agreed to transfer into the SCU division. The thirty-four year old sat back in her chair, tapping her pen rhythmically, and otherwise staring off into space. Her other hand was holding a folder which held the details to the latest serial case.

Sitting directly opposite of Rita, her partner of seven years, Detective David Christian looked up from the evidence bag in his hand, giving a mild half smirk. He watched her for a moment upon immediately recognizing the signs of frustration brewing within. Not to say that their latest case wasn't frustrating...

"They're calling this guy... the _what_?" Rita broke the silence as she glanced over at her partner.

David dangled the see through bag, causing the plush sheep to bounce from within. Somewhat toying with the evidence, "The _Sheep Slayer_." He turned the bag around to expose the opposite side, more specifically to what was written on the plush toy. "The perp's calling card via personalized lamb per vic."

"So," Rita began as she placed aside the file and held out her hand. Upon watching David toss the evidence bag and into her awaiting hands, "This _sheep slayer_ is obviously trying to, what?, convey some religious message to the masses?"

"Religious message?" David stood up, making his way towards his partner's side of the conference table and sitting up on it. He earned himself a weary glance from her direction, one which he easily ignored as he plucked the bag from her fingertips. Causing the sheep from within to 'dance' on the desk's edge, David coyly smirked, "And here I was assuming that this psycho had an unfulfilled sheep fetish..."

Rita tossed one more tired glance before grasping the evidence back from him. Her blue eyes strayed towards the clock on the wall and she began musing out loud, "Speaking of unfulfilled... what time did the Chief ask to meet with us regarding this case?"

David glanced at the wall clock before looking at his own watch as he turned his right wrist over. Running one hand through his slightly spiked sandy blonde locks, "Ten o'clock sharp."

"It's twelve minutes after the hour."

"Relax, Sam." David assured his brunette partner, using his special nickname for her. "Y'know Stockwell and his fifteen minute rule. If he says that he'll meet us at a certain time, that translates to him arriving fifteen minutes _after_ the fact. _However_, if he asks _us_ to meet _him_ at a specific time--"

"I expect both your asses to be present fifteen minutes _before_." A voice interrupted David's exposition, causing the two detectives to turn their heads towards the door.

Head of the SCU for the Los Angeles Police Department, Chief Robert Stevens, whom his younger colleagues affectionately bestowed the nickname 'Stockwell' because of his uncanny appearance to the actor Dean Stockwell, tossed an amused smirk at his two detectives. As he entered the room, a young man in a dark suit closely followed his lead.

"Guys," Stevens began as he indicated towards his companion, "This is Special Agent Jonathan Michaels. Straight from the Washington DC Bureau of Organized and Specialty Crimes." He glanced down at the paper in his hand before adding, "And according to the temporary transfer paper that was just faxed over, he is to be on loan to us pending this investigation."

The two detectives each gave Michaels an acknowledged nod, in which he respectively returned. David glanced over at his partner and briefly rolled his eyes as he watched her give the new guy a once-over. From David's point of view, there wasn't anything particularly interesting about Michaels. Standing at, what David could guess, five feet eleven, Michaels had this young and lean rookie look about him. He quickly glanced over at Michaels's hands, as they clutched onto a briefcase, and silently nodded to himself. David, ever the observer and most often or not accurate, quietly noted that because of the hands' smoothness, Michaels was in fact a rookie. If you've been in this particular job for as long as David was, your hands are bound to not just get dirty but gain some rough scars along the way.

If David had to compare Michaels to an actor, the detective had to go with that Damon guy sans _Ocean's 11_. Of course Rita would probably know the name of "that Damon guy" considering that she's more than once proclaimed to her partner that she would "jump his bones" if she was given the chance. It was information that David regarded as slightly "over sharing."

Stevens nodded at his two detectives, though talking to Michaels. "Since two of the Slayer'shomicides have occurred in our jurisdiction, you'll be working with Detectives David Christian and Rita Samstone. They're the best that our SCU division has to offer, which is why this case has been directly handed over to them."

"DC, huh?" David spoke up. As he watched Michaels place his briefcase on the table, "Isn't that where the Sheep Slayer started?"

Stevens took a seat at the head of the conference table, just as Michaels gave a nod and began reaching into his briefcase. "His first victim that we know of." Michaels pulled out four file folders, one in which he handed straight over to David. "November 15 of last year. Vanessa Gales. Eighteen years old. She was found tied to a pole in an empty lot just a few blocks away from her own home." He had cast his eyes downward as he took an intended pause. "Autopsy reported a massive blow towards the back of the head, that in which was not the initial cause of death. Which means that the Slayer had probably knocked Gales out before he--"

"The sick bastard burned her alive?" David looked up from the file, which held photographs and various reports from different investigative departments. His voice was filled with disgust and mild surprise -- if only because he's, unfortunately, seen much worse.

He answered with a reluctant nod before moving on. "Next to what was left of Gales was the toy sheep with her name on it. We could only assume that it's his calling card because he continues to leave one for each of his victims." He handed over the rest of the folders to David, who handed the Gales file over to Rita. Each taking turns looking over the different case files.

As Michaels started to briefly explain each victim, David regarded the young agent with a mixture of disbelief and awe. He couldn't help but be impressed at how professional and quick to the point this young man was. However, because of Michaels' obvious youth, David found it hard, and annoying, to regard this agent as an equal. He really couldn't believe that Michaels knew of yet the horror humanity can turn into for, because of his age, he will have to lack the field experience that David and Rita were unfortunately privy to. Then again, maybe because of his lack it is why Michaels could explain each situation without so much as a cringe... Yet, David found himself picking up on Michaels's voice as it managed to reveal a soft empathy...

"The following month, December 12. Harriet Gaines. Victim number two. Tampa, Florida. Twenty-one years old and, just like Edna Gregory, died after being strangled in her own bathtub. Her little sister, who was visiting Gaines at her apartment, found her and the toy sheep.

"January 13 of this year. New York. Nineteen year old Helena Gibson's body was found, by the roommate, hanging in her dorm room. A plush sheep found on the floor under her body.

"Two months later, March fifth, there was another hanging. This time all the way across country to Seattle, Washington. Sixteen year old Odina Gold, the youngest known victim. Her father, Rabbi Jack Gold, found his daughter's body in, of all places, their synagogue. And if that wasn't enough, the Slayer had placed his calling card directly on their Torah."

Rita shook her head, recalling the rabid media coverage. "Talk about a way to bring yourself into the public eye. It's because of that case that we, and the entire nation, became aware of this Slayer's existence, and now you're telling us that this psycho's been around for nearly half a year already?"

"I understand your disbelief, Ms. Samstone." Michaels began, though Rita interrupted him with a half smile.

"Addressing me as Rita is just fine, Agent Michaels."

"As is addressing me as Michaels." The young agent replied with a small grin.

"And since we're getting formalities out of the way," David had cut in with a smirk, while repressing the urge to puke upon watching their interaction. "If you start on the 'Mr. Christian', I'll be looking over the shoulder for my father. It's David." He paused, then added with a coy grin, "Or even Sir will be fine, Junior."

Michaels blinked, a bit caught off guard by David's remark. "I think David sounds good enough for me."

"So you were saying, Michaels?" Rita had asked just after she momentarily rolled her eyes at her partner.

"Rita, your disbelief regarding this case is understandable. I've been with this entire investigation from the start and I still cannot fathom why this killer has yet to be caught. However, you must keep in mind that, with the exception of these latest two homicides, the Slayer has killed within monthly intervals. Not only that, but he seems to be extremely careful as to not leave behind any trace of evidence of his existence, not counting his calling card."

"So," David started, "We're obviously looking for a _brilliant_ psychopath. Considering that he was smart enough to not only physically strangle Gregory and Gaines underwater, but also use gloves. Not spandex, but leather -- according to the autopsy reports of finding particles on each of the victim's throats."

Stevens, who was observing the detectives quietly, finally chimed in as he held up their own case folder. "And after the more publicly known death of Gold, and before the latest homicide that is the drowning of Gregory, we have Agnes Gabriel."

Rita began looked over at Michaels. "Speaking of religious connection, twenty-one year old Agnes Gabriel was well on her way to joining the Sisterhood. Gabriel was just moving back into her parents' home and awaiting a visit from Sister Daphne Cole. Sister Daphne was the one to find Agnes..." Rita glanced away from Michaels before adding, "At least what was left of her. She suffered the same fate as Vanessa Gales."

"Sister Daphne," Stevens pulled out a photograph and placed it squarely on the conference table. "Also found that plush animal with Gabriel's name on it right next to her body."

A heavy silence seemed to fall upon the four officers before David spoke up. "Okay, so we have a total of six victims in a span of seven months. Besides the infamous fluffy calling cards, what other leads do we have? Any specific MOs we should be looking for, Junior, regarding as to whom might be this sicko's next vic?"

Pointing out the obvious, "Female. So far, ranging from ages sixteen to twenty-one. Also," Michaels started pulling out a regular head shot photograph of each victim. "The young women share a couple of physical traits; medium to long cut brown hair and averaging height of around five seven to five eleven."

Rita gave a confirmed nod, "Both Gabriel and Gregory had brown hair, Gabriel was five feet seven inches and Gregory was five nine."

David's eyes had found themselves staring at the Gregory-marked toy sheep in the evidence bag. He was momentarily silent as he regarded the plush before mumbling, "Edna Gregory... Edna Gregory... Gregory... Gregory... Gabriel--" His eyes suddenly widened as he began raising his voice. The others looked on, though Michaels seemed less confused than the other two. Even bordering on silent amusement.

As David began reciting the last names of each of the girls, Rita interjected using her own nickname for him, "What are you going on about, Chris?"

"Gales... Gaines... Gibson... Gold... Gabriel and Gregory! All of their last names start with the letter G."

"Wow, partner." Rita smirked, "I've never been more impressed by your knowledge of the alphabet."

The thirty-five year old glared at his partner, who was also unfortunately his best friend and the one person he allowed a jab or two. David turned to Michaels, "So this guy is targeting young brunette women between the ages of sixteen to twenty-one, all of whom posses the last names starting with the letter G."

"That's the basics. While I was in Seattle covering the Gold case, the local authorities I was working with came up with some interesting theories. One in which that this was some madman's religious crusade."

"That's also what we've been thinking," Rita spoke up. "I mean, out of all the things to leave as your personal trademark, why a sheep? A perfectly small white sheep? A lamb basically if we have to get really biblical."

David began opening up each of the women's folders and briefly scanned through them. Finding what he was looking for, "This guy's been doing his research, I mean, is it any wonder why he'd move in for the kill per month? Check this out; Gales is an apprentice to a Wiccan Priestess, Gaines had just been baptized as a Jehovah's Witness, Gibson had just published a critical theological essay all the while being an avid atheist, Gold is the daughter of a respected Rabbi, we've got Gabriel who was about to become a nun, and finally we have Gregory who, according to her file, was a well known advice columnist for her church's newsletter. Each of these women had some personal religious connection."

"This is all well and good, people." Stevens said, "However, how is this going to help us find this bastard before he claims another victim? I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but we have to keep in mind that now the media is starting to get their hands all over this case. Michaels, I know that the higher ups have been helping you to keep this investigation under low profile, but this can't stay covered up forever."

"I'm well aware of that, sir." Michaels then glanced over to David and Rita. "Which is why I'm here and asking for some assistance. Because of the fact that the last two girls were both from here, I have to guess that the perp is still within the west coast area of the United States."

Rita nodded, "Which means we have to move fast and try to find any clues as to this guy's and or his next victim's identity. Before he kills again." Her eyes strayed on over to her partner, causing her to regard him uneasily. "Uh, David... what are you doing?"

David, whose own eyes seemed to be intently studying the plush animal, momentarily glanced over at his partner before turning his attention back to the sheep. Suddenly, his eyes slightly widened, which signaled to Rita that David had made a discovery.

"Hello, beautiful, what have we got here?" David began opening up the evidence bag, but not before stopping to toss Rita a look. Rita gave an understanding nod before standing to leave, exiting the conference area and returning back with a pair of gloves. As she handed the gloves over to David, Michaels regarded the two detectives with a mixture of amazement and interest while Stevens looked on with amusement, for he was used to seeing the pair work together in perfect sync.

Curious, Michaels sat himself down while observing David, "What are you doing?"

"Is it just me or was there something different about this particular little lamb that stood out from her other 'flock'?" David replied, though his attention was focused entirely on the plush animal.

Three pairs of eyes turned their attention to the photographs of the other sheep in question. Rita and Stevens slightly widened their eyes in realization, while Michaels gave way to a soft smile. Rita looked over at her ever observant partner, "Edna Gregory's sheep has a collar on it."

"Exactly." David smiled proudly at Rita. As he began slowly removing the small black collar from the toy sheep, "Now why is that?"

"I guess we're about to find out." Stevens remarked, proud in knowing that putting Rita and David to work on this case was the right decision on his part.

"Gentlemen, and a lady, we have words..." David began as he regarded the collar, which was now removed from the toy. He squinted his eyes, "Okay, this guy obviously thought this whole plan out. This collar has got to be custom made and the words on the back are hand stitched." David read the words once more before slightly paling in realization. He looked up at his colleagues, "The killer is either setting us up... or he just gave us his next victim."

_JoAJoAJoA_

_**Arcadia Police Department - Chief Roebuck's Office**_

_**April 14 2006 - Friday**_

For the two years that Lieutenant Will Girardi has ever worked under Roebuck's command, he has never felt this much unease and anticipation standing outside of his office until now. He glanced at the wall clock, **_11:34 PM_**, before gazing over at his good friend, and partner, Lieutenant Toni Williams. Toni immediately recognized the look of apprehension on Will's face and, despite knowing how it feels, quietly cast him a small amused smile.

"You find this funny?" Will asked, though unable to stay the least bit upset at his partner's disregard. "Visitors from out of state, asking to speak to Roebuck within the privacy of his office. Did you not only pick up on this vibe of urgency coming off of them? And did you not see that look just now that Roebuck tossed over in _my_ direction? Please share your take on this obviously _amusing _situation that I myself don't see."

"Will," Toni gave him a light pat on the shoulder, "Relax, okay? Maybe those guys are here on assignment needing extra help on a case? And maybe," She shrugged. "Maybe they've heard of you and thought that you could be the best man for the job?"

"You think so?"

"Hey, if I had to seek out someone to go in undercover for a mafia related operation, I'd recommend you in a heartbeat, partner." Toni lightly smirked, which caused Will to slightly glare.

"Never underestimate the Italians and their family. That is a fact that I encourage my own children to never take lightly."

"Why do I not doubt that?"

While Will and Toni remained outside Roebuck's office, the banter from within the office was anything but light. Arcadia Police Chief, formerly Undersheriff, Roy Roebuck regarded the three visiting officers with guarded ease. He had offered them a seat, with only the woman, Detective Rita Samstone, taking it while her other companions, Det. David Christian and Special Agent Jonathan Michaels, stood on both sides of her. As he took his own seat behind his desk, "So to what honor do I have with your visit? Especially since it must be of the utmost urgency considering that one, you've traveled all the way from Los Angeles, I believe?, and two, you asked to speak to me alone while I was in a meeting of my own with my officers."

"Well, sir," Michaels began, his voice as calm and on the edge of nonchalance. This mildly irked David just as he glanced over his shoulder to briefly regard Girardi. "The matter actually concerns one of your officers; Lieutenant William Girardi."

"I'm listening."

Before Michaels could further explain, David had cut himself in, earning a slight disapproving glance from Rita. Since their first meeting with Michaels, Rita had a sneaking suspicion that David didn't look upon the young agent with the utmost high regard. If anything, Rita could detect the scent of territorial jealousy reeking off her partner. Which, despite it all, actually amused her.

"We would like to ask a couple of questions concerning Lieutenant Girardi. Mainly try to get an overall impression of him."

Roebuck crossed his arms. "Why? Or more specifically, what is your objective in questioning my officer _through myself_ when you could very well ask _him_?" He quickly gazed up and behind the visiting officers, tossing Will a brief questioning look before turning his attention back.

His entire demeanor turned that into the questioner instead of the questionee. This caused David and Rita to inwardly hesitate on their strategy, especially considering that they were now questioning a fellow officer -- one that was of higher rank than themselves. David glanced over at Michaels and found, to his amazement, that the agent wasn't at all put-off.

Michaels, in fact, was echoing the same calm front that Roebuck had placed himself in. "Chief Roebuck, if you're concerned that we're acting on behalf of Internal Affairs--"

"I know you're not working for them, Agent Michaels." Roebuck interrupted, his stance clearly unmoving. "Internal Affairs wouldn't be questioning in such a polite, even hesitant, manner. Most just barge in and start interrogating."

"We're not like that, sir." Michaels gazed over at David, sending him this silent _"Let me handle this"_ look. It was a glance that didn't sit too well with the older detective, however a silent jab from his partner caused him to reconsider Michaels's request.

"Good." Roebuck began, "Because even if you were a part of Internal, I would still refuse to give you the information that you're looking for. So, unless you A) give me a good enough reason to talk about Girardi or B) have a court order in which requires me by actual law to answer your questions-- I suggest you leave before I have my officers, Lieutenant Girardi included, kick you out of my station house."

Michaels looked over at David, who in turn glanced over at his partner. Knowing that this might have happened, they had agreed on a Plan B. Rita gave a small nod before calmly gazing over at Roebuck. "Sir, we apologize, first off, for not being upfront with our motives. For trying the old run around tactic. It was unprofessional of us. However, on our defense, sir, we're actually working on a highly crucial case with not only a very limited time frame, but by orders of the Government must be kept very low profiled. Though, because a life literally depends on this investigation, I'm sure that my colleagues and I are willing to sacrifice secrecy over getting the proper details ASAP."

A silence had fallen upon the office as Roebuck took her words in. Finally, with a hint of a smile playing on the corner of his lips, "_Now_ you have my full cooperating attention, detective."

David gently gave his partner a brief pat on the back while Rita tossed Michaels a nod. Encouraged by her, "Chief Roebuck, by any chance does Lieutenant Girardi have any children?"

Refraining his reaction by such a question, Roebuck replied, "He does. In fact, I've seen Will with his kids and he is a very attentive, loving father to them. And his children regard him with a tremendous amount of love and respect."

"Children." David spoke up. "As in more than one?"

Roebuck gave David an amused smile as he recognized his interrogating strategy. "Yes, Detective. Will is a father of three children. Would you even like me to inform you of their ages?"

It didn't take much for David to realize how foolish his "small and vague questions only" approach was sounding. Especially towards this obviously more experienced officer. With a sheepish smile, "That would be very helpful, sir."

With a gentler smile, especially upon noting how he had just intimidated the younger gentleman, "His two sons are Kevin and Luke, twenty-one and seventeen respectively. The middle child, Joan, is around eighteen, I believe? She's actually graduating high school this coming June."

David and Rita unintentionally glanced at each other, surprised by this information. Not realizing his words or the fact that they were still in Roebuck's presence, David stared at Rita and Michaels, "Joan is his daughter."

Before any of them had the chance to truly react, though Michaels seemed to be taking this revelation with as much reserve as possible, Roebuck startled the three officers by standing up from behind the desk and making his way towards the door. Poking his head out, he sharply called, _"Girardi."_

"Chief Roebuck--" David began, but was immediately cut off.

"Listen, I was willing to play along with your little interrogation game. Mainly because of your more _humble_ approach..." Roebuck's voice started with light sincerity, though quickly hardened as he continued, "However, as soon as you started treating me as an inferior instead of an equal--"

David was about to comment, but Michaels silenced him by stepping up ahead and placing a gently, yet firm, palm on David's chest as if to halt him in his approach. With his voice steady and even as his gaze on his fellow officer of the law, "That was not our intention, sir."

"You beckoned?" Lieutenant Will Girardi's voice entered the scene and had unintentionally cut the tension that had slowly brewed within Roebuck's office. Will walked up to Roebuck, with Toni right behind him.

Before anyone had a chance, Rita stepped forward towards Will with a friendly, yet somewhat neutral, smile. "If you don't mind, Lieutenant Girardi, my colleagues and I would like to have a word with you and Chief Roebuck. A _private_ word..."

"Well, with all due respects Ms...?"

"Detective Samstone. LAPD: SCU division. But Rita is just fine, Lieutenant Girardi."

"So is Will." He replied with a soft grin, though quickly cleared it as he finished, "And, again, with all due respects, _Rita_, but whatever you have to say to me, I'll have to insist including my partner, Lieutenant Toni Williams."

Rita and David shared a look, one in which no words were needed for them to agree that they truly know the bond between "partners", especially in this line of work. David gave a soft nod, "We have no problem with including your partner in this investigation. In fact," He gazed over at Rita and Michaels before adding, "For this case especially _now_, I believe we might need a few more people involved than we initially realized."

Michaels looked on and nodded at David's words, "Detective Christian is right. Especially now that it's been confirmed, by your Chief, that you're the Girardi of Arcadia that we've been looking for."

As Roebuck reached over to shut the door, Will regarded the three officers with an amused smile. "Before I start to ask what is this all about, it'd be good to know the company that I'm currently dealing with."

"Girardi, Williams," Roebuck answered for Michaels, "These are Detectives Rita Samstone and David Christian of the Los Angeles PD, Serial Crime Unit. And that is Special Agent Jonathan Michaels."

Unable to help himself, David softly snipped, "From the Bureau of Organized and Specialty Crimes. Washington, DC."

"DC?" Toni remarked. "Wow. So are you trying to tell us that whatever assignment brings you here to Arcadia, that it's high profile enough for the folks from DC to send out their agents?"

Michaels reached for his briefcase and pulling out six folders. "In a manner of speaking..." As he handed the folders, two each, to the three Arcadian officers, "Have you heard about the Gold murder that happened last month? Seattle. Odina Gold, daughter of Rabbi Jack Gold?"

Without needing to open up the files he was given, Will nodded. "I think we more than heard about it, Agent Michaels. Word amongst officers is that whoever killed the young woman was also responsible for several more deaths. Two in, I believe, where," He looked over at David and Rita, "You're from, detectives. LA?"

"The papers that were covering the Gold murder," Toni added, "Started calling the guy the... the--" She glanced over at Will, though it was Roebuck that answered.

"_Sheep Slayer_." After getting a confirmed nod from Michaels, Roebuck continued, "Because this serial killer would leave behind little toy lambs with each girl's name printed on them, correct?"

David nodded, "Which basically brings us to why we're here..." He looked over at Will, who was currently looking at Edna Gregory's file. From what David saw, Will's eyes started to flash with disgust and pain. If he was this affected reading the files on these young women, practically strangers that could very well befriended his own children... how would he react upon finding out-- His train of thought was broken upon Roebuck's voice.

"Are you here _because_ of this Sheep Slayer case?"

Will glanced up, his eyes jumping from Michaels, to David, Rita, then found their way to lock on to David's. His police instincts started to kick in, especially noting the hesitant silence that brewed between the three visiting officers. David broke the steady gaze by looking down and clearing his throat. Will straightened his stance, not liking the uneasy vibe within the office area, "What's going on? What are you three not telling us-- not telling _me_?"

David finally looked up at Will. His hands had found their way into his own briefcase and slowly brought out an evidence bag containing a little black collar. Knowing that there was no real easy way to explain, "Edna Gregory was the latest known victim and on her sheep was not just her name, but it had a black collar around its neck. Unusual within itself because the other toy lambs never had collars. Which is why we believe that he's finally sending us a message -- maybe even a _warning_, and... well, on the back of the collar is not only a place, but a name. A name we have reason to believe may be his next victim, and..."

The detective trailed off and decided that actions might speak a lot louder than words. Gingerly, David turned the evidence bag around, allowing Will to view the back of the black collar. Especially as it read in perfect white stitching:

**Joan Girardi -- Arcadia, MD**

_JoAJoAJoAJoAJoAJoA_

A/N: Ahh... okay... y'know the drill... R&R... which does not mean Ross&Rachel by the way LOL.. All kidding aside, this seriously will be my main concern of a project. I swear on all the hotness that Kristopher Lemche embodies!

This is my rather big first attempt at a JoA suspense and for those J/A fans that are worried; Fear Not! I've got J/A moments... also got J/CbG, J/Price, and J/Grace moments... LOL Joan will share onscreen time with many characters from the series AND some original ones of my own.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Wow! People are reading my crime drama! LOL And here I thought I'd come off boring with the little details I tossed right in there. Details which, by the way, I hope y'all are keeping track of because they are in there for a reason... they are quite vital...

Oh, and a special cookie toss to **Ros****wellianKitten **for being the first in guessing my shout-out! I indeed paid slight homage to my favorite Sammys from _Silk Stalkings_.

**Admiral Lily**, tell you what, if you can somehow manage to kidnap Kris Lemche for me, I'd gladly offer you an advance sneak peak of not just the next few chapters, but maybe even let you in on the ending (which I hope is quite a _whopper_ of an ending).

Which by the way, as the story progresses, I hope some of you are keeping tabs of the characters. I've already added _subtle_ hints concerning the true nature of some of these characters. Now, enough small talk... on to the show!

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

**CHAPTER TWO**

_**Maryland - Arcadia - Downtown**_

_**April 14 2006 - Friday**_

Downtown Arcadia was no stranger to the familiar hustling and bustling of afternoon activities. From cars and city buses traveling as one, to young people enjoying the after school freedom. The latter provided the four individuals currently strolling the inner downtown streets. At first sight, one would be convinced that they were two young couples -- however, one would only be half correct.

A young woman, with her long brown hair tied up in a simple ponytail, started laughing upon something whispered into her ear by a young man, who was wearing a Anaheim Angels baseball cap. She squeezed his hand affectionately, giggling as her eyes twinkled in amusement. The young man, a few inches taller than her, joked a bit more while taking it upon himself to guide his arm around her shoulders. One would think that they were in their own little world, but on the contrary, they were equally aware of everything around them. Including their companions following from behind.

Though the young man, with a light gray hoodie, and woman, with a black leather jacket, were not a couple themselves, they in fact had a bond that could rival the others. They walked together in an unusual sync way and with an air of comfortable confidence that no words need be exchanged between the two.

The young woman with the ponytail glanced behind her, laughing and encouraging her companions to keep up the pace. The young woman with the leather jacket quipped a comment, which provoked the other to laugh further. The young man with the baseball cap thus turned his own head, bantering with the other girl. The young man with the hoodie merely nodded, his eyes never affectionately leaving sight of the woman ahead of him.

And witnessing it all was a man... _"The Shepherd is not too far from His flock..."_

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"Who'd have thought."

Adam Rove blinked upon hearing his best friend, Grace Polk, muse. He gazed over at her, raising a questioning brow.

With her eyes steady upon the young man walking ahead of them, "Us hanging out, well... with a _Price_." Grace made a face, one in which brought a thoughtful, if not only amused, smile to Adam's lips.

He gave a slight shrug, to which Grace saw, "And this does not bother you in the slightest? C'mon, Rove, this is _Jane_ we're talking about. After all the adolescent angst you two stirred up two years ago, you're actually okay with the fact that Girardi is dating someone else? And not just anyone else, but a _Price_ no less!"

"Technically an _Aramis_." Adam slightly corrected Grace, who merely rolled her eyes at him. "What? That is his birth name, isn't it? Dane Aramis."

"Not that this is relevant to the conversation at hand, Rove, but according to him, his mother legally arranged for him to share her maiden name. So technically, he _is_ a Price. And now, before I get bored with this topic, you really are okay with Joan dating Price's nephew?"

Adam regarded Grace and a small knowing smile appeared on his lips. Despite the rough exterior that his best friend carried around herself, he knew the true extent of Grace's heart. Especially her concern towards the only two best friends in her life; himself and Joan Girardi.

Wanting to ease her doubts, "Unchallenged. I mean, when it comes to Jane, I'll always love her... it's just that... _life_ takes some unexpected twists, yo. Remember, we _both_ agreed that breaking up was the best thing for us... I mean, at the time, it felt _right_... felt like something we both needed to do..." Adam trailed off, his eyes landing upon Joan, just as she gave a playful slap on Dane's arm and her laughter filled the air around them.

Grace found herself smirking knowingly at Adam, especially noting the particular look in his eyes as he stared at their best friend. She had seen that look all too clearly two years ago... "At the time, huh?"

With his eyes still on Joan, and his voice tinged with both sincerity and sadness, "She's happy, Grace. That's all that matters to me. Jane's happiness."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"Y'know, Joan," Eighteen year old Dane Aramis Price mused, just as he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Are you sure that there's no way I can talk your father into letting me take you out tonight? I happen to be a very persuasive speaker. I mean, you should know first hand considering that if it wasn't for my arguments, you wouldn't have agreed to go out with me in the first place."

Joan Girardi smiled coyly at Dane, "Hmm... and here I thought the only reason I said 'Yes' was because your _desperation_ came off as adorable. I am, after all, a sucker for big blue eyes."

"I guess that makes me a desperate sucker for enchantress much like yourself, huh?" Dane flirted right back, causing the young woman to laugh and playfully slap his arm.

Though the afternoon started off a bit weary for Joan, at the present moment, especially with the company she was keeping, it made her talk with her father earlier a lot more bearable. Her father had called Joan on her cell phone right after school, practically demanding that she not make any evening plans because she was to spend it at home with her family. Why? According to her father, the police officer, it was because he was having some important company over for dinner _and_ were she to intentionally skip out, Joan was to look forward to spending the rest of the month dating _online_ instead of actual dates with her boyfriend. Needless to say that the conversation had placed the young Girardi in a very fowl mood.

However, all thoughts of the impending possible dinner from "boredom hell" escaped her mind as the afternoon with her friends progressed. Dane had encouraged the four of them to an after school outing in downtown Arcadia. Just a brisk afternoon stroll and maybe even grabbing a small snack down at the local cafe. Adam agreed, merely because he too thought that the outing might cheer "Jane" up. Grace _reluctantly_ agreed, if anything because she had nothing better to do. Joan happily agreed, for all Dane had to do was smile at her and she would practically do anything for him.

Which was a completely new feeling for her. Upon her surprisingly amicable break up with Adam, Joan believed that she could never find another guy that could make her feel anything short of warm and _butterfly funny_. That all changed when Dane Price, her Vice Principal's nephew of all people!, showed up at Arcadia High that September afternoon this past year. He was not only sweet, though not Adam Rove-sweet that she was used to, but charming and funny in a.... well, Joan silently thought, she supposed that if she were to compare this particular nature, it would be to--

Suddenly, Joan slightly stiffened as her steps came to a halt. Her sudden movement caused the others to look upon her with concern. Both Adam and Dane regarded Joan in almost the exact same way that it nearly caused Grace to snicker. Though, she did snort back a chuckle upon Adam and Dane simultaneously saying;

"Joan?"

"Jane?"

She blinked, realizing that she was surrounded by her best friends, despite being overwhelmed by this feeling that she was being watched. Her eyes started to scan the proximity and just when she was about to scold herself and her paranoia, Joan spotted him... make that _Him_ with a capital _G_.

Leaning, it's funny that she would often or not find Him doing that, against a phone booth across the street was God in what she had dubbed in her head as the "cute guy in the brown jacket" form. They managed to lock eyes and as He gave her a slight smirk and a nod, Joan exhaled a small frustrated groan. It was a noise that the others caught.

"What's wrong, Girardi?" Grace asked, her eyes searching the area that Joan found herself preoccupied with. Upon seeing "that guy" Joan often or not would talk, more or less _arguing_, with, Grace said, "Oh, him..."

Hearing Grace's comment, both Adam and Dane stood at attention to turn their gazes across the street.

Adam slightly turned away and hid his dismay. He had seen that friend of Jane's many a times before, and often felt... _weird_ by his presence. Maybe it was the way that Adam couldn't help but feel _small_ compared to him. Maybe it had to do with the fact that whenever he appeared, Jane immediately joined his side. Or maybe because he can't, in the course of his relationship with Jane, get a straight answer out of her regarding her "friend." Whatever it is about this guy, it actually caused Adam to be grateful that Jane was currently with Dane instead of _him_.

Dane, meanwhile, started staring down at the guy in the brown jacket. During the past year that he was dating Joan, Dane grew to realize that he would be competing with two other guys for her. With Adam Rove, Dane immediately felt a mixture of ease and fear. Ease because he knew Adam was one of those rare "nice guys" that actually respected Dane enough to trust him in being there for Joan. However, he also felt fear because he himself could not compete with the bond, the history, that Joan and Adam share. Fear in knowing that one day, he would lose Joan to Adam. Now with _this_ guy, Dane felt, if anything, distrust. Maybe it was the way that this "friend" of Joan's, someone she would continue to defend and dismiss to Dane, would look at her. Maybe it was the way that he always felt _smaller_ whenever the guy was within proximity. Or maybe because everytime that _he_ showed up, Joan would always go to him. Whatever it is, Dane knew that he would rather lose Joan to Adam than to this guy.

Joan broke her gaze with God as she turned towards the others. Out of pure reflex, she tossed them a feeble smile, shrug, and a flighty excuse. Knowing the drill, and chalking it up to being one of Joan's greater mysterious that they'll never figure out until she starts talking, they nodded at her approvingly. Joan inwardly winced for she wasn't blind and knew that this "Need to leave, be right back" routine was starting to weigh its toll on her friends, but on her defense, it certainly sounds better than _"Okay, excuse me while I go talk to God in one of His--Her--It's many forms."_

Within a moment's time, the eighteen year old found herself across the street and a few feet away from God. He straightened up a bit just as she cornered him with crossed arms and a teasing glint in her eyes.

"Wow... you're _here_. It's been a while, hasn't it?

He gave her a particular knowing look, one in which she often could do without. "Joan, I'm more than just _here_. I'm everywhere. You've been talking to me how many years now and you still can't grasp that concept?"

"You _know_ what I mean. You haven't showed up for a few weeks that I was starting to get worried that you found yourself another lackey."

Replying with a shrug, though His smirk was as evident as ever, "I've been busy."

"_Right..._ because being a deity requires you to rule the entire universe and then some. It's not like you belong to a Union or anything like that." She slightly bantered, which was something she found herself getting involved in with her conversations with God. "But seriously, what is it this time? And make your _suggestion_ quick because Dane and the others are waiting."

God's "youthful face" regarded Joan evenly with a look that caused a small chill down her spine. Looking at her with a mixture of solemn reserve and even... concern?, He replied with a cryptic tone, "Fear not, Joan. I will _never_ abandon you."

Joan stared at Him, confused and startled by his words. Not just his words, but also by the delivery and the way his eyes held onto hers, as if wanting His message to never be forgotten. She was especially thrown off as He suddenly reached over and grasped her hand into his own. Finding her voice, though a shaky one to say the least, "God, wha-- what're you talking abou--"

He squeezed her hand, his eyes still holding onto hers before releasing all grasp, "Remember that." With that soft spoken note, God tossed her a small reassuring smile and turned to walk away.

Once more, she watched him leave... and once more found herself confused by His words. However, the exception in this case was how she felt by God's departure. Though often she was left with the following range of emotions; frustration, confusion, sadness, pride, and even awe... For the first time ever, Joan Girardi felt a new emotion.

She was afraid.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Maryland -- Arcadia -- Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 14, 2006 -- Friday**_

"Helen... Helen... honey..."

Will Girardi stepped back, regarding his wife and her current state of avoidance. He watched as she paced back and forth within the kitchen area, tending to her cooking instead of to her husband's incessant plea for her to look at him.

"Sweet heart?" He began once more, his voice level dropping to a softer tone than the norm.

"Y'know," Helen Girardi finally spoke up, with her Southern voice mildly annoyed and her concentration solely on the mashed potatoes. "For an experienced detective like yourself, you sure aren't taking the obvious hints that I'm upset."

Will sighed, knowing that he truly was the cause for his wife being angry at him. He glanced over at the wall clock, **_5:49 PM_**, and realized that they -- as in the three unexpected guests he had invited over for dinner -- would be here shortly. Which was the point of Helen's current state of annoyance -- the fact that Will had _unexpectedly_ invited his colleagues over for dinner without properly warning her ahead of time. In less than two hours, Helen had to prepare enough food for eight, which was twice as much as she had grown accustomed towards this past year, with her eldest son, Kevin, moving out and all.

"Helen," Will's voice swiftly became agitated as well. "If I had known you would be this upset, I would have just insisted on going out somewhere for dinner."

She started to grind the potatoes harder with each sentence. "Will, it's not us not having enough food for the seven--"

"Eight."

"Eight? You said you invited _three_ guests over?"

"I also told Kevin to have dinner with us tonight." He explained with a sheepish smile, which only prompted a groan to escape Helen's lips.

"That's what I'm talking about! It's the fact that you had dropped this on me at the very last minute! I don't mind having people over, Will. I would just like to be told ahead of time so that I could have enough time to prepare a good enough dinner for _eight_ people."

Deciding to use the old flattery technique, Will shrugged, "Honey, honestly, can I help it if I couldn't stop _raving_ to my colleagues about my _beautiful wife's_ gourmet cooking skills? Thus evidently inviting them over to sample such fine cuisine?"

Helen could only roll her eyes at her husband, especially more so as he tossed her a flirtatious grin. "Well, if my gourmet_ cuisine_ encompass garlic mash potatoes straight from a box _and_ a bucket of fried chicken from KFC, then boy are they in for some fine dining!" She dropped her sarcasm -- and the act of mashing her potatoes -- for a moment to call out to her younger children. "Luke! Can you come downstairs and help set up the table? Your brother will be here any moment with the food! Joan! Will you get off the phone and come down here to help your brother?"

At the sound of a pair of footsteps descending the stairs, Helen turned her gaze back onto her husband, whose eyes remained solely on her. Seeing the sad, helpless look in his eyes, a small reluctant smile played on her lips. "Oh Will..." Helen sighed and placed her hands on her hips, her eyes twinkling as she teased, "Y'know, the kids got that puppy dog pout from you."

Smiling softly at her, "So, you're not mad at me anymore?"

Helen handed him the mixing bowl as she started walking towards the refrigerator. Returning his soft smile, "Not if you don't start mashing those potatoes while I get started on preparing dessert." She turned her gaze from Will and towards the dining room where she spied her youngest child, Luke, setting the table... _alone_.

"Luke? Where's your sister?"

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"Dane, I'm not kidding. There is absolutely _no way_ I can get out of this dinner without serious ramifications on my end! And I'd rather suffer through meeting my father's friends than go through two weeks without seeing you outside the halls of Arcadia High!"

The eighteen year old adjusted the cordless phone to her other ear, just as she started to hear the sounds of Mother Lion from below.

_"Luke! Can you come downstairs and help set up the table? Your brother will be here any moment with the food! Joan! Will you get off the phone and come down here to help your brother?"_

She rolled her eyes, knowing full well that setting the table wasn't the only reason why her mother wanted her off the phone. To her boyfriend, "At least I know I'm not the only one that's going to suffer tonight. You should have seen my mother when dad once more dropped his unexpected 'Guess whose coming to dinner' bombshells. Ever since Kevin moved out, my father manages to do that at least once a month, though he swears that it's _unintentional_."

Speaking of her big brother, Joan silently remembered that there was an old sweater of Kevin's that she had been meaning to borrow. She made her way towards his bedroom, that now served as a guest room despite half of his closet space was still dedicated to his clothes. Once Joan found what she was looking for, she walked over towards his window as she began listening to Dane encouraging her that those "surprise dinners" couldn't be all that bad. She would have countered that he's lucky that his uncle, Gavin Price non the less, wasn't _that_ sociable to pull a stunt like her own father -- but found herself biting back the comments. Joan was aware that despite Dane finding a father figure in Mr. Price, it must've been hard for him growing up nearly all his life without a dad. As much as she herself would complain about her father, Joan couldn't imagine a life without him.

As her eyes regarded her neighborhood from the second story view, Joan softly sighed, "I really wish I could be out spending time with _you_." That's when she noticed two cars pulling up along her street, each approaching from opposite sides. In a blue Nissan, two people, a man and a woman, exited out and began walking together up her lawn. They stopped, however, upon seeing the black Porsche parking itself behind their Nissan. Once steering and parking his car, another man got out and paced his way towards the couple. Joan could only assume that the suit wearing officials were the three guests her father invited over.

She turned her gaze away from the window as she began speaking to Dane, "Listen, I have to go. Dad's guests have arrived... Okay, I'll call you later... bye."

Just as the doorbell rang, Joan, on cue, heard her mother cry out, _"Joan! Will you at least get the door?"_

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"Tell me, partner," Det. David Christian began, as he pulled the rental car into park right in front of Will Girardi's two story house. He glanced over at Det. Rita Samstone, who was currently unbuckling her seat belt. "Is it just me, or does this not seem... I don't know, not _right_."

With a nonchalant shrug, "David, since when have any of our homicide cases been defined as _right_?"

He gave her a look as they got out of the car. "Y'know what I mean. There's something about this _lead_ that-- I don't know what it is, but... it just doesn't feel right."

Rita joined David's side and regarded him. As they slowly made their way up the front lawn, "What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, we're looking for a criminal that obviously _knows_ his victims."

"Uh huh... a good percentage of serial killers usually stalk their vics. Getting to know their daily routine enough to find a perfect opportunity to take advantage."

"Right. So honestly, Sam, you don't find anything, say, _off_ about this particular potential?"

Rita paused for a moment, considering every single detail of this entire case so far. "We know that Joan Girardi of Arcadia, Maryland _does_ exist. And that she does fit the age range."

David stared down at Rita, emphasizing, "She's a daughter of a _cop_. And according to her father, other than both parents being raised in a church-minded upbringing, his children and spirituality go together like peanut butter and onions!"

She made a face, "Thanks, Chris, for that stunning visual. _Now_ I'm _really_ hungry."

He ignored her comment, "The point is, all these other girls had some kind of spiritual connection... and now we have this potential target whose only religious tie is, what?, worshipping her iPod? I mean, does she even _believe_ in a Higher Power?"

At that moment, the two detectives turned their attention to a black vehicle parking itself right behind their Nissan rental. They regarded the driver, especially with mild surprise upon seeing Special Agent Jonathan Michaels emerging from within.

As Michaels stepped out and began pacing himself towards them, David looked on wearily. "Ah, Junior. So glad you could make it. We were getting worried for a moment, considering that you left the station house before us. And in a rather quick manner too."

Michaels gave a slight shrug and attempted to pass his two colleagues, but was cut off by David as he stepped in front of him. Rita rolled her eyes at her partner's not too subtle accusing nature. With a slight grin, though David's eyes were without amusement, "Where you been hiding all afternoon?"

Not intimidated by the taller detective, Michaels returned David's stare. "Running an errand."

"Where?"

"Downtown."

"Why?"

Michaels softly slanted his glare, though mirroring David's smile. "You ever heard of the expression 'curiosity killed the cat'?"

David's face hardened upon Michael's words. He was about to comment when Rita literally stepped in between the two. "Children." She snipped, slightly placing a hand on each of their chests. "Behave. Or do I have to place you in your respective corners?"

While David's eyes remained on Michaels, the agent softly turned his gaze to look upon the Girardi's house. Finally, David, who was now silently being stared down by Rita, relented and averted his gaze. Rita sighed, "Now, let's try to work together as a _team_. How about starting off with something simple, huh? Like walking up those steps and ringing that doorbell?"

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

Just like the doorbell, Joan's footsteps began to echo throughout the house. The young woman paused in front of the door, taking a quick peek outside, then opening it. With a welcoming smile, "Hi. You must be the fellow detectives my dad invited over for dinner. Come on in."

The mere sight of the young woman, whose brown hair was tied up in a neat little ponytail and was radiating more than just natural beauty, caused the three officers to pause in regard.

David quickly glanced over at Rita before turning his gaze back onto the young woman. It didn't take a scientist to realize that this girl standing before them was obviously Joan Girardi. Nor did it take a genius to realize that, as far as MOs went, she definitely shares more than just the age range _and_ the letter G in the last name.

Joan bit her lower lip, especially noting the stares she was receiving from the two detectives. She tossed them a nervous smile and a timid laugh. "Oh, sorry! My mom would kill me for my bad manners... I'm Joan." She held her hand out, jokingly adding, "And whatever story my father has said about me, it's not. True."

David and Rita each gave a small laugh, while Michaels softly smiled. Taking her hand, David started the introductions as they began to step inside. "It's nice to meet you, Joan. I'm David Christian. This is my partner, Rita Samstone. And that's Agent Jon Michaels."

The young Girardi turned to Rita, shook her hand, then turned towards Michaels. With a sudden instinctive burst, David found himself watching Michaels, especially taking note of the fact that the agent's eyes never left Joan's sight. Michaels took Joan's hand, giving it a kind squeeze as he softly said, "Good to see you, Joan."

Rita hid a smile, while David rolled his eyes, as both detectives caught a hint of blush appearing on the young woman's face. Joan held onto Michaels's hand a lot longer than anticipated, for upon noticing her audience, she pulled back and looked away. With another nervous laugh, "Uh, yeah, come on in! Dinner's almost ready and... uh, well, let me give you the dime tour while we're waiting. Follow me, if you will."

As Joan walked ahead into the living room, and with Michaels following close by, David reached for his partner's arm and gave it a good yank. He pulled her to the side, much to Rita's surprise, and held a finger up for silence. Upon watching Joan and Michaels disappear together into the living area, and making sure that they weren't within listening distance, did David finally explain himself to a perplexed Rita.

"Give me a reason _not_ to break _your_ arm, partner." Rita quietly growled at David, who once more looked over his shoulder. "What're you doing?"

Ignoring her question, "Did you see that?"

"See _what_?"

"What happened between Joan and Michaels? Did you notice the way he was looking at her?"

Rita gawked at her best friend, not knowing whether to be afraid or annoyed at his current state of suspicion towards the young agent. Opting for the tried and true sarcasm, "You bet I did! Why, I say that's grounds for having him arrested! The audacity of a grown young man checking out a pretty -- not to mention also _legal_ -- young woman out? And not just that... They were on the cusp of _flirting_ as well! Let's just straight book him for _life_!"

David crossed his arms, glaring mildly though tossing her a half smile. "You're mocking me."

With a wink and a good pat on the arm before joining the others, whom have made their way into the dining area, "Nothing gets by you, Chris."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

Nearly an hour and a half later, Will Girardi excused not only himself, but also requested the attendance of his three guests into the den area for a brief "business discussion." His children bit back not just a knowing look, but a giggling fit for they knew very well how _Godfather_-ish their own father sounded, very much so to his awareness.

Dinner with the Girardi clan, the detectives and agent found, was quite a pleasant experience. In between what David truly considered "fine home cooked dining", there was much small talk exchanged. Mainly random humor stories which prompted genuine laughter.

Despite himself, when he wasn't finding himself entertained by Will's stories about his children, some in which garnered much groans and protests, David would silently observe Michaels and Joan, whom were not just sitting next to each other but across the table from himself and Rita. Though he found their exchanges interesting -- slight private talk here, slight flirtatious laughter from Joan there -- David couldn't quite get his partner to take note as well. However, she did manage to roll her eyes at his incessant nudges. He didn't know what was more frustrating; the fact that Rita didn't take notice of what he was seeing or that he himself couldn't figure out _why_ Joan and Michaels together bothered him so much.

As Joan and Helen got up together to start clearing the dinner plates, thus making room for dessert, Will called upon having a brief "business discussion" with his colleagues. Once the officers were behind the closed door of the den, Will's "family man" face shifted slightly to that of the "cop" exterior.

With his arms crossed, concerned yet his voice stern and gruff, "Okay, what now?" He noted that they tossed him equally confused looks, to which he continued, "I mean, we're clear on the matter that the main reason I invited you over was so that you could help explain to my family about this-- this... well, _complicated_ _situation_. You folks have to understand that I usually, if anything, keep my work _away_ from this part of my life... _away_ from my _family_."

Will turned around, his back facing the officers. Thoughts, images, and fears ran through his head. Earlier that day, at the station house, Will Girardi _the cop_ was informed of this vital investigation. Informed of a serious string of homicides that was about to hit extremely close to home. Will Girardi _the cop_ knew he could handle this particular case. However, Will Girardi _the father_ of what could be this killer's next victim... He turned back towards them, his rough cop exterior beginning to crumble. "But now it seems like I-I... I can't _protect_ my family from my work _this time_. Because now, there's this _bastard_ out there! And he's after _my daughter_! My little girl!"

Michaels sadly regarded Will. His eyes was shining with sympathy and quiet pain. So much so that he began looking away and avoiding eye contact with him.

David tucked his hands into his pants pocket, also refraining eye contact. Seeing Will in this state, confused on whether to handle this ordeal as a cop or a father, caused David to be somewhat thankful he himself had never gotten married or had kids. Though, David reflected, that could be a mixed blessing.

"Will," Rita stepped forward, placing a calm hand on his arm, her pained eyes looking upon him. "We don't have to let them know tonight. You yourself had only found out about all this a few hours ago and, to me, it looks like you're still allowing the revelation to sink in."

"It's up to you, Will." Michaels added, to which David surprisingly agreed.

"Junior's right. We don't have to tell them tonight... or even the next day. In fact, we can pretty much keep this all in the dark and you'll still have that line you wanted. You can still be able to keep your work and home life separate from one another."

"David's right." Rita said. "Michaels, David, and I can handle this case without your family -- without Joan -- knowing. We'll keep round the clock surveillance, constant updates, whatever is needed to make this _situation_ easier on you and your family as possible."

David stepped in front of Will, allowing the two to lock eyes. With as much sincerity and strength, "But again, it's your call. I speak for the three of us in saying that whatever decision you make, either way, we will do anything we can to keep your daughter -- your entire family -- safe."

A heavy silence fell upon the four officers. The brooding quiet especially got to Will as internally he debated not just their words, but his next move. Finally, he regarded each and every one of them, noting and being moved by the sincerity in their eyes. Will gave a small nod and a half smile at them before making his move towards the door. His eyes looked upon them as he softly said "Thank you," to which Michaels, David and Rita each returned the smile.

As Will started to open the door, he looked over at David. Giving him a questioning, yet amused, glance, "I'm surprised you didn't add the phrase 'And that's a promise.' Or something to that effect."

In reply, with a slight smirk, "Well, I would have, but it would have come off too Clint Eastwood, Dirty Harry-like."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

A/N: Heh, bet I know what you're thinking (at least some of you): WTH? Joan isn't dating Adam?! Why?! And who the hell is this _Dane_ guy? Well, my JoA fanfic readers, you'll probably want to kill me because all I can say is -- All will be revealed in good time. There's a reason to my madness... and a madness to my reason... so says some genius... R&R, please grins


	3. Chapter Three

A/N: Cha, like... what _is_ up with Michaels? Hmmm.... _(all Britney Murphy like)_ _"I'll never tell..."_ Hehehe... at least not yet... Oh, and for all you Joan/Adam shippers out there, please please please be patient with me? I need Dane in there. Without Dane, there would be no true purpose for me to write this... and I've probably given _something_ away, huh? Oh darn. So please be patient. You'll probably either want to kill me or feel like I'm killing you... either way, someone will get killed... oh darn, did I also give something else away? I've got to learn to shut up and keep my author's notes strictly short and to the point. Anyway, thank you all for the reviews! And, well, on with the show!

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

**CHAPTER THREE**

_**Maryland -- Arcadia -- Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 14, 2006 -- Friday**_

Something was wrong. It didn't take a science whiz like Luke, a college student like Kevin, a woman with mother's intuition like Helen, or even someone that -- unknown to everyone else -- talks to God like Joan to realize that there was something troubling their beloved Will Girardi. Just one thoughtful regard was all it took for them to sense that Will was carrying this weight, this burden, and in total agony to relieve himself from it.

It also didn't take much for them to figure out that whatever was bothering Will, it also had to do with the three guests he invited over. Especially with the way they were now standing. Gone was the relaxing, out of uniform demeanor. In its place was the same no-nonsense attitude they themselves had grown accustomed to witnessing from Will's end. However, they -- most particularly David and Joan -- noticed that Michaels, despite also coming off like a professional, still held on to some type of ease. Needless to say that this bothered David to no end.

Will had politely asked his family to gather around the living room area. Without question nor hesitation, they complied. For there was something in his eyes and a quiet urgency in his tone that told them that he obviously had something _serious_ to announce. Thus his family picking up on his troubled vibe and fearfully wondering; What's wrong?

Soon enough, Will had his family present and accounted for in the living room. Joan and Luke occupied the couch, while Kevin wheeled himself on one end of it, nearest to his younger brother. Michaels placed himself right by Joan's side of the couch, while David and Rita stood nearest to Kevin, right by the fireplace. Will stood, as such, upfront and facing his children, while Helen started to place herself by her husband's side.

Will turned to Helen, giving her a small pleading smile, "Sweet heart, maybe it would be best if you take a seat."

Helen regarded her husband for a brief second before shaking her head. "No." Knowing Will was about to protest, she cut him off by sternly adding, "No, Will. I prefer to be standing. Right next to you because... well, I don't know why, I can't explain it but I have this feeling that whatever it is you have to say to us, we'll both need each other for support. So I'm standing."

Will looked upon his wife with quiet awe and brilliant love. Which caused his breath to be caught in his throat upon knowing that what he's about to do could shatter her. He reached for her hand, giving a soft nod, before turning his gaze onto his beautiful children.

As he looked upon each of them, his heart began to slowly break. He knew each of them was growing up into their own, becoming fine kind hearted individuals... yet no matter how old they've gotten, or how far away their future paths will stray from his own life, Kevin, Joan, and Luke will forever be seen in his eyes as babies that he once held so simply, so long ago in his arms.

He squeezed Helen's hand, warning himself not to let his strength crumble. "I... I-I don't know how to go about this. To go about _explaining_ what needs to be explained..."

Joan stared at her father, especially taking note as his voice -- ever so confidant and sure -- started to become soft and hesitant. "Dad? What is it? What's wrong?"

Will's eyes locked onto his daughter, his little girl. He blinked for suddenly the young woman that was now staring up at him, for the briefest moment, morph into a little girl with two braided ponytails. The little child Joan regarded her father with concern that was laced with a hint of fear.

"Daddy?"

"Will?" Helen's voice broke Will's trance, causing him to blink and shake his head. He faced his wife, noting how she too was giving him the same look, then turned towards the officers. He gave each of them a helpless look, for he was truly at a lost of words.

David and Rita glanced at each other, both momentarily unsure of what to do. They gazed over at Michaels, who had silently kept himself back and his own gaze was focused on Joan.

A heavy, and a bit uncomfortable, silence started to fall upon the group until it was Michaels himself that broke the quiet. He gave an understanding nod to Will, who returned with an appreciative one.

"Well," Michaels began, his eyes observing the entire family, though every now and again landing on Joan. "There's no real easy, nor better, way to start... _except_ with the truth. With being honest because, especially the situation... well, the situation that, I'm sorry to say that this family is unfortunately being faced with..."

"What _situation_?" Luke asked, tossing an equally confused look at Michaels as well as towards his siblings.

David locked eyes with Michaels, who then gave a tiny nod and took a step back to allow the detective to continue. David regarded all the members of the Girardi family until finally, he too, looked upon Joan. "Detective Rita, Agent Michaels, and I are here in Arcadia in regards to an investigation. One that requires assistance from your father and the other officers from the APD."

Joan sat in attention, especially as she had gotten a mental flash of her brief encounter with God this afternoon. With a quiet dread, "So why are you telling us this? Our father tries, if anything, to keep his work away from home..."

"We're aware of that." Rita smiled softly at the young woman. "Your father had told us that."

"So, again, _why_?"

"Because, Joan," David began, his somewhat strict tone startled Joan to gaze up at him. "We had gotten a new lead... one that involves you."

Joan stared hard at David, random thoughts and doubts running through her head as she regarded him. Finally, finding her voice, she asked the question that was undoubtedly running through everyone else's mind; "What kind of case are you working on? How serious is it?"

David looked over at Michaels, who then turned to Will, whose own eyes were pained. Will nodded at the young agent, "It's okay..."

"Dad?" Joan looked at her father, even more confused and now feeling a bit of fear creeping through her veins.

"I suppose that I... that we," Michaels nodded at Rita and David, "Should start from the beginning."

"It's very important that we're honest with you, Joan." Rita said as her gaze turned to her partner.

David added, "There's no other way but telling the truth. Because this investigation depends on every single detail available."

Michaels once more took the floor, "Considering that--"

The fear began pumping through her even more steadily, which was added on to her anxiety and curiosity. "Look, just _stop_, okay? Stop running around in circles and just get to the point! I mean," She managed a joking grin, "It's not serious, right? This case? It's not like life or death, me being stalked by some psycho serial killer, right?"

Time seemed to stop just then. A silence answered Joan, which caused her to really focus on the detectives. Michaels's face had suddenly voided of any emotion, except empathy. David and Rita mirrored one another, as their reactions ranged from brief surprise to hesitation and finally they too shared the same expression as Michaels. Though, out of all the reactions to her outburst, it was her father's that had gotten to Joan. He had looked away just then, his eyes shut and his body stiffened to the point that even Helen had gotten this look of worry and fear.

"Right? _Right_?" Joan started saying, her voice rising on the cusp of anger and fear. "Someone speak up right now, _please_? I mean, like your silence isn't exactly the answer I wanted and it's starting to scare the shit out of me--"

"Joan." Helen's voice reprimanded.

"What? It's true, mom. I can even see it in your eyes that you're afraid. Because _they_ know something that they're obviously not telling us within this decade. At least by the pace they're going!" She had risen up from her seat, her eyes flashing as they landed on Michaels. "Stop trying to do this family any favors, sparing any feelings, and just get to the point. Because just to let you detectives know, we've been through the exact same 'inevitable delay of the truth' bullshit with Kevin's doctors after his accident!"

Without the approval of Will, Michaels reached into his briefcase and pulled out a photograph. He handed it over to Joan, who then stared at it, confused. "What is this?"

In a no-nonsense voice that was laced with calm sympathy, "That collar right there? That was found two days ago on a toy lamb. That same toy was found in Edna Gregory's hands... Edna, who was found strangled in her bathtub... she was the sixth victim by the same serial killer that went after five more girls in the past six months."

Joan's gaze on the photograph was broken as she looked at Michaels. Her eyes were wide, her voice barely a stunned whisper. "Why does it have my name on it?"

"Unlike the other plush sheep that he had left behind, with the victim's name on it, the toy with Edna's name on had a collar. _That_ very collar right there. So, Joan, we believe that either he knows we're on to him and that you're merely a decoy to distract us from his next true victim, or..."

Michaels had intentionally strayed off, especially as he gazed over to note the pained look on Will's face. The agent then turned towards David and Rita, both of whom were looking upon him with a mixture of respect and disbelief. Respect more from Rita's end, while David stared more in disbelief over how Michaels had handled himself.

Helen broke the silence that had fallen upon the room. Her voice was a mixture of anger and denial, a healthy combination from any parent upon discovering that their child is in danger. "Well, there you go, Agent Michaels. It just has to be a decoy, right? I mean, you said it yourself; all the other _toys_ this killer has left behind didn't have collars, right? This one did. So it has to be a decoy. Because if you think that Joan, that _my daughter_, could be this-- this murderer's next victim, well, you've got the wrong girl."

Will placed a supportive hand on the small of Helen's back, softly caressing her arm with the other as he pulled her closer to him. David sadly regarded the couple, his sympathy mainly towards Helen.

With remorseful eyes, David gently said, "None of the five girls should have been _right_ either..."

"Oh God..." Stunned as the realization seeped in, Helen placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes watering as she leaned into her husband's embrace. She looked up at Will and saw the same helplessness in his eyes that she began to feel herself. She then gazed over at her sons, noting that despite their obvious differences in personality, each of them mirrored the same look in their eyes as they regarded Joan; emotions ranging from disbelief, anger, fear, and finally fierce loyalty laced with silent adoration. Helen finally looked upon Joan, and the sight just broke her heart.

Joan felt as if she had just stepped out of her body and was just merely watching this _movie_ playing before her. In her mind, Joan wasn't in any danger -- _she_, that _other girl_, was the one in danger. That wasn't _Joan's_ name on the collar -- _her_ name was. Everyone wasn't anxiously looking at _Joan_ -- they were looking at _her_. And most of all, God didn't just abandon Joan -- He abandoned that_ other girl_ and left _her_, not Joan, to face this psychopath that was out there.

Suddenly, Joan felt the room getting smaller. She darted her eyes around, sensing the wall closing in on her and her lungs clasping tighter until she couldn't breathe. Gasping, she cried, "I have to go... I have to get out of here... I-I-I _can't_!"

Everyone in the room watched, stunned to move at first, as Joan rush past them and out the front door. It wasn't until the sound of the door pulled open and the cool night air making its way in that the others reacted to her departure. Instinctively, they all cried out to Joan, but it was Will, Michaels, and David that raced after her.

They stood on the front porch, their eyes adjusting to the dark. Will, the one most afraid for his daughter, starting crying out her name into the night. Soon, David began doing the same, but only in vain. It was as if she disappeared the moment she stepped out of the house, for there was no visible trace of the young woman.

"Will," Michaels began, his voice possessing a calmness that earned a raised, disbelieving look from David. "Do you have any idea where Joan might have gone? She's obviously upset. Is there any place, any_one_, she can turn to in the current state that she's in?"

Despite the situation, a relieved smile appeared on his face. Quickly, he started making his way down the porch steps towards his car. Rita soon joined them, as she was the one to ask, "Where are you going?"

Without hesitation, "Tell my wife to call _Carl Rove_. Ask him if his son, Adam, is home and if he is, inform him that Joan ran away and to call us when they see her. If Adam isn't home, ask for his whereabouts because I don't doubt for a second that that is where she's gone to. Got it?"

"Yes, sir." Rita replied, then noting that David was half way inside of the car with Will, just as he was giving her the information. All it took was one shared look for her to understand that she was to remain while he accompanied Will. She headed on inside, just as she started to hear her partner call out to Michaels, who was standing midway on the porch steps.

"Comin' or what, Michaels?" Will had the ignition flaring, causing a roar of the engine loud enough for David to roll down his windows and yell at the agent.

He shook his head, "Going to help out Rita--" He began, but was cut off by David, as he glared.

"Rita can handle her own."

Ignoring his comment, "Explain the situation more to Helen. Then I have to head down to the station for some out-of-state information to be faxed over by tonight."

David glanced at Will, who merely shrugged as his hands anxiously gripped the steering wheel. He looked back at Michaels, giving him a hesitant, if not weary, "Okay." David gave a nod, to which signaled Will to peel out of the driveway. Through the door mirror, his gaze never left the sight of the agent. Michaels stood on the steps, immobile, watching them before he gave a silent nod and turned back inside. His actions undoubtedly caused a tiny knot in David's stomach.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Maryland -- Arcadia -- Home of Adam Rove**_

_**April 14, 2006 -- Friday**_

Never did the busy noise of metal being bent, twisted, and blended sound so sweet to Joan's ears. From the dark, her body emerged into the semi-illuminated room that was her Adam Rove's shed. On instinct, Joan ran to the only place she could truly feel safe. Safe and cut off from the rest of cruel humanity and the dangers that seem to be born from it.

Upon hearing those detectives revealing how her life was threatened, Joan felt the fear crumbling over her... and she felt trapped, suffocated... unable to breathe. So she ran. She escaped. Into open darkness and searching for the light. And she found it. More than just the sparks from which the flames dancing on metal produced... she found the light which illuminated from _him_. His soul... her best friend, her Adam Rove.

As she stepped ever so slowly into his shed, Joan was awash with the familiar sense of warmth and deja'vu. It was only two years ago that she had first step foot into Adam's shed. Two years since she first watched him creating one of his many beautiful artwork. Two years since she witnessed him talking to angels. She didn't know it then, but Joan could now smile back in realization that maybe that was the moment she first truly fell in love with him.

Which made Joan wonder... why did they break up in the first place? She recalled that it was quite amicable. That they both felt it needed to be done... that somewhere, somehow, their paths that had once collided into one another was now veering separately. Though Joan cannot recall the days which lead to their breakup, she did feel that it was right... at the time.

Joan shook her head, suddenly overwhelmed with guilt as she thought of Dane. It was wrong of her to feel regret over ending her romance with Adam because were it not for that end, she would never have this start with Dane. Dane who is nothing but sweet, honest, and loving with her. Who has just as much of her heart as Adam does... Joan knew she was falling in love with Dane, she could feel it with every single day that passes... yet, it started to beg the question; Why is she here?

Suddenly, she saw Adam stiffen and cut off the power to his welder. His back had been hunched over and facing her while sculpting. She knew that Adam would always slip into his own little world while working on his pieces. Which was why she would always try to sneak up, unnoticed, just to watch him. However, like this very moment, her sneaking would prove in vain for there was something about their bond that caused a sixth sense within Adam. A prowess that would always trigger his awareness of _Jane's_ presence within proximity. Joan watched as Adam place his tools aside and turn around to lock eyes with her.

"Jane. Hey." He looked at her with his _"Jane smile."_ Of all people to nickname one of Adam's smiles, it was Grace that christened one of them after Joan. Their friend had described that particular grin as a mixture of "nauseating shyness and doe-eyed worship." -- to which Adam gave his _"Grace glare"_ that Joan quipped as a mixture of "idle confusion and polite exasperation."

Joan took another step in, though partly holding herself back and allowed a good distance for fear of breaking down on him without warning. However, as soon as Adam _really_ looked into her eyes, through feigned smile and all, did he notice her hesitance. "What is it? Jane, what happened?" Concerned, he took a cautioned step towards her.

That mere act alone caused the young woman to rush straight into his arms.

Though no tears had spilled, just yet, her body trembled a sob. His arms held her, wrapping around with a quiet strength that only Adam Rove could provide. He didn't speak, just allowed his silent patience to comfort Joan until she felt ready to speak. They remained in that position for quite some time until Joan pulled back and looked up at him.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he reached over to tuck back a stray of hair behind her ear. His fingertips brushed gently along her face, causing a old familiar tremble through her. Adam's eyes never left her sight, which was all the more reason for Joan to question why they had broken up in the first place.

She opened her mouth, just now finding her courage...

_"Adam should be in there, Will."_

Joan's body stiffened upon hearing Carl Rove utter her father's name. Her grasp on Adam tightened as she heard the approaching voices of not just Adam's father, but of her own and Det. David Christian. She looked from Adam, to the door, and back on to Adam. She removed herself from his protectiveness, once more feeling the walls close in as she quickly explained, "Adam, I-I-I can't stay. I have to go."

Confused, and even a bit scared for her. "Wha-- why? Jane, what's wrong?"

Sadly, "I-I can't explain now. My dad--"

"Jane..." Adam reached for her hand, desperate to prevent her from running.

The shadows of three men danced on the doorway, just as Carl's head poked inside. "Adam? Mr. Girardi's here and he was wondering if--"

"Joan!" Will Girardi's eyes landed upon sight of his daughter, just as she instinctively jumped to Adam's side. Her father looked at her with a mixture of anger and relief.

"Daddy, wait, I-I can explain! I just needed to see Adam! To let him know--"

Just as confused as his own father, Adam asked upon deaf ears, "Know what?"

Despite David's insistence to Will that maybe he should calm down and talk to his daughter at home, Will ignored both David's suggestion and Joan's outburst. Merely reacting off his own scared emotions, "You shouldn't have left the house like that!"

"I told you, dad, that I needed to see Adam!"

"That is _no_ excuse. No excuse! I don't care if you needed to see the Pope! Do you realize just how much you scared us by taking off like that? Me? Your brothers? Your mother? From now on, Joan, you are _never_ to leave the house at night! Do you understand me?"

All fear momentarily left her body as angered pride took over. "Dad! No! No-- You can't do that! I'm eighteen years old and this is _my life_! You can't tell me what I can and can't do!"

"The hell I can! Do you _not_ understand the situation that we're faced with? That _your life_ is facing?!"

"That's _why_ I came here! Why I needed to see Ad--"

"So that's why you ran away?! In the middle of the night? With a serial killer, a _madman_, out there trying to get _you_?!"

Stunned silence struck both Will and Joan upon the words that escaped his lips. Horrified by his outburst, Will stared at his daughter. Especially as the reality of her father's words sunk hard and deep within, causing the young woman to start shaking.

Without asking, nor hesitation, Adam reached for her as he allowed Joan to sob in his arms. Despite being confused, and surprised, by Will's words, Adam knew one thing; Jane was in trouble. And whatever trouble she was in, Adam silently promised himself that he would not let anything, _anything_, happen to his Jane.

Carl looked over at Will, who was still in disbelief over his outrage, then glanced over at David. "Is this true?"

David had placed a calm hand on Will's shoulder, just as he turned towards Carl. Indicating towards the door, "I think that... maybe we should let _them_ talk..."

Carl nodded and started to follow David. However, he took one step out the door when he turned around to look upon his son. "Adam?"

Adam began soothing her sobs, lightly rubbing the small of her back and whispering to her. "It's okay... it's going to be okay, Jane... I'm here... I'm not going to let anything happen to you... it's going to be okay... I'm here..." He looked up at Will, holding his gaze as he added, "And so is your dad..."

Joan, who had her face buried in Adam's shoulder, pulled back and looked into his eyes. She nodded her head, though still numb from crying. She gave a soft smile as Adam leaned over, kissed her lightly on the forehead, then walked away to allow her some time with her father.

"I'm so sorry."

Joan had her back facing Will. She wrapped her arms around herself, silently listening to his apology.

"Joan, I... I-I shouldn't have yelled like that." Will ran a hand through his hair, his eyes desperate for her face. "Sweet heart, I... I was just _scared_. I know _that's_ no excuse for my behavior but... oh, Joan, _God_, I've _seen_ those picture!"

She turned to face him now, to watch as her father started to crumble before her eyes.

"The photographs they took of those girls. Pictures of what that--that _bastard_ has done to them and... they were you. I saw _you_. Their faces were _your_ face. Your face was on their bodies and... and I just. Got. _Scared_..."

Her lips quivered and her face scrunched up as the tears began to fall. "Daddy..." Joan ran to him, allowing him to sweep her into a tight embrace where both were afraid to let go.

"I'm sorry, Joan... God, I'm so sorry..."

"No. No, _I'm_ sorry... Daddy, I'm so afraid... I'm so scared... I don't want to die..."

Despite his rough exterior breaking down, Will's voice hardened as he answered with a fierce love and determination only a father could posses. "That won't happen. I will _not_ let that happen."

She held onto him, her head pressed against his chest and allowing herself to hear her father's heart. Reminding her of nights when she was a little girl, when she would fall asleep in her father's arms. Those rare nights where he'd come home before the 10 o'clock news, wanting to watch them in his chair. That same chair he would sit and a few seconds later, Joan would crawl up and make herself comfortable in daddy's arms. And while he listened to the news, and later to her softly snoring, Joan would fall asleep listening to his heart beating.

"On my life, sweet heart, I will _never_ let that monster come anywhere near you." He whispered. "Never."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

They were leaving the young man's house. All three of them.

David; the detective that thinks he'll discover all the answers.. _"But answers aren't necessarily the _truth_..."_

Will; the cop and the father, _"Oh, he can try to stop me... to seek me out... But to do that, he must find that Who your daughter follows..."_

And Joan. Joan Girardi... _"The little child... little lamb who is most favored by her Shepherd."_

From afar, all three entered Will's car, with David taking the back and Joan up front with her father. From afar, they started to drive away back towards Euclid Street.

From afar, he watched it all.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

A/N: I would have written this chapter a lot sooner had I not realize how emotionally draining this particular chapter was. Honestly, I was a bit afraid to undertake the family reaction scene. Most particularly the Will/Joan scene because in my head, it was of the dramatic caliber worthy of appearing on the actual show itself. Hopefully I did it justice. If not, I'm sure that you'll let me know. Wow, is it any wonder why I try to stick to comedy? Drama is hard! So I dedicate this chapter to the freakin' genius writers of JoA. Never again will I harp on your dramatic skills. Oh, and I hope you J/A fans enjoyed this chapter. See? Just because Joan has a boyfriend that's not Adam, doesn't mean I've totally destroyed the _connection_ shared between Joan and Adam. Long A/N short... more drama to come and until next chapter... which is coming.. soon... real soon...


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Don't own no one in the Arcadia universe. Only original characters are the ones you don't recognize from the show. Wish I own Kris Lemche, but ladies, hey, don't we all?

A/N: Aloha! Okay, yes... where the hell have I been? Well, Real Life sucks. The past few days, which turned to, what?, weeks?, has just been this one big wild ride. So now I'm suffering its consequences and feeling rather sick and exhausted. Which, I imagine, is the perfect mode for me to be in when it comes to writing! So I'm back! For a while... hopefully even longer because I'd rather be here in JoA fanfic land than sucky real life and all its complications beyond my control. Because we all like to be in control of complications... which is why we have fun _creating them_ in JoA fanfic drama. I'm almost complete with Chapter Five, which I'm hoping I'll have up by Thursday. So until then, Enjoy this Chapter!

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_**Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 14, 2006 -- Friday**_

For what could be the third time within the last fifteen minutes, Will flicked the hallway lights on. The illumination flooded a fair amount of the house's second floor. His eyes scanned each of the bedroom doors before, _once again_, walking towards and opening each one. He started with his eldest son's old bedroom and noticing that it remained the same even after Kevin moved out to currently share an apartment with Barry "The Bear" Caldwell. Next, Will quietly gazed into his youngest son's room. A gentle smile appeared on his face as he looked upon Luke, who, despite growing up into a handsome young man, still slept like a newborn babe. From there, he made his way towards his little girl's room.

It was nearing the eleven o'clock hour and nearly an hour and a half ago since their guests had left. After bringing Joan home from Adam Rove's house, sleep was the last thing on anyone's mind. It had gotten late and all had decided that too much excitement had passed for any real discussion of the case to take place. After the detectives left -- with the exception of Agent Michaels, whose car was parked outside on patrol -- Helen suggested that the family should turn in early. That a good night's rest would help them see, and digest, things a lot more clearly. It took a while for everyone, especially Joan, to agree.

He gently opened the door, careful not to wake her up. His eyes regarded Joan, as she laid all nestled and snug within her bed. The peaceful look on her young face didn't betray a hint of the trouble that had found its way into her life. Which gave way for a bittersweet smile to appear on Will's face. He would rather have her safe, at least, in her dreams than not protected anywhere. Before he slowly shut the door from behind, Will stepped inside just to plant a tender kiss on his daughter's forehead.

Will started towards the master bedroom, but not before shutting off the hallway lights. He looked towards the door, and it was there that he saw his beautiful wife, Helen. She was sitting in their bed, waiting for him, though she had her head down in a thoughtful manner. He regarded Helen and upon hearing her soft whispers, Will realized with a start that she was praying. Much to his own surprise, he gave an angry and disgusted shake of his head.

Despite recognizing her actions, "What are you doing?"

Helen raised her head and returned the weary regard. She immediately recognized the hint of disbelief in her husband's voice. "Praying. Asking God to watch over my family. To watch over my daughter."

"Well, while you're at it," Will made his way towards her. Not hiding his sarcasm, nor his disregard, "Can you also ask God to, I don't know, strike the psychotic bastard dead? Do everyone He supposedly loves a favor and just remove scum like that off the face of this planet."

"Will..."

"I mean it, Helen. If God is supposed to be a 'father', why doesn't he do what I -- as well as all the other fathers that lost their daughters -- want to do to that piece of shit for a human being?"

"Sweetheart, I know you're angry..."

"Damn right I'm angry. No. Wait... I'm pissed off."

"... But you're taking it out on, what could be, mankind's biggest scapegoat." Helen reached over for Will, clasping his hand into her own. With a tenderness that easily melted his heart in seconds flat, "I'm not saying that you _shouldn't_ blame God. Everyone does and it's a natural human reaction. But I think it's _pointless_ right now to question, to be angry at, or even to blame Him. You'll just be wasting your energy when you could be focusing on other important things."

Will looked at his wife with a timid, yet soft humored grin. He sat himself on the bed right next to her. "Like gunning down the son of a bitch that's after our daughter?"

"Will..." Despite wanting to reprimand her husband, Helen couldn't help but smile at his lack of seriousness. She reached over, lightly kissing him on the forehead before sinking into his arms.

"Helen," He began, the humor replaced by a more somber tone. "Seriously, if that psycho even lays a finger on her or if there's as much as a hair missing from our baby's head ..."

"Maybe..." Helen held Will a bit closer to her, a somewhat eager hopefulness in her voice. "As awful as it may sound, maybe Joan really _is_ just a decoy. That this _Slayer_ guy is merely distracting everyone here on the other side of the continent and all the while he's still in California!"

Will gently kissed his wife on her forehead, "Honey, you have no idea how much I wish that were the case... but we can't take any chances on mere maybes. There are just _things_ about this case that makes Joan just as easy a target. Decoy or not, our daughter unfortunately falls under majority of the victims' MOs."

The last line piqued Helen's interest, causing her to raise her head to lock eyes with Will. "Like?"

His eyes replied just as fearful as his voice, "There were pictures, Helen... The police had taken pictures of.... of those girls. Those poor girls' bodies and what _that monster_ had done to them. And I had seen our little girl's face on each of those bodies... And I'm not saying that just because our daughter's life is being threatened, but because of _those girls_ themselves."

"What do you mean?"

"Alive, each of those girls could have passed for Joan. From the hair to age... the height to the built of the body... there was just something about each of those young women that reminded me of Joan." Will turned away from his wife, refusing to let her see his strong facade crumble.

Helen lightly caressed Will's face, silently begging him to look at her. God only knows just how much she adores this man before her. She knew that this was slowly killing him inside, and Helen desperately wanted to ease his pain. If only he could just look at her, look into her eyes and see that he wouldn't go through this alone. That he needn't be strong for her, that they could _both_ share the burden and be strong _together_. Not just for their own sake's, but for their children's... for Joan's...

However, Will merely faced Helen and gave her a feigned smile. "I'm going to check up on the kids again."

He started to get up, but was pulled back by Helen's desperate, even fearful, grasp. "Will..."

To her surprise, which caused a deeper fear within, Will's voice softly pleaded, "I have to check on them. Please..."

Thus a heavy silence fell upon the couple. Helen slowly removed her hand and gave a reluctant nod. Will gave her a sad, yet grateful smile as he got up to leave their bedroom. In their own way, with Helen starting back in prayer and Will patrolling their home, they began to reflect on the impending storm that could either strengthen their family... or forever tear them apart.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

She wondered just how long he was going to stay out there. Alone. In his car. At night. With a serial killer on the loose.

Joan Girardi closed the shades once more, after having checked Special Agent Michaels out for the second time. She glanced over at the grandfather clock a few paces away from where she sat in the living room, noting that it was a few strokes away from midnight. Joan knew that it was a risk being awake, away from her bed, and the haven that was her bedroom. However, as light a slumber she had earlier found herself in, Joan had awoken in a curious state. Not just an inquiry, but she had gotten this strange sensation calling to her from downstairs. Thus she had quietly snuck out of bed, out of her room, down towards the living room and facing the world outside of her home.

She pulled the shades back again to look upon Michaels's rental. It was parked right across the street from her house, discreetly a car's length away from the glaring street lights. Expecting to see his relaxed form situated in the front seat, Joan, however, was startled to find that the black Porsche was empty. A concerned, somewhat fearful thought crept into her mind as she began to wonder what happened to the agent--

A thump on the front porch startled Joan from her frantic thoughts. She gazed over towards the side of the house and allowed a breath of relief to pass through her lips. Realizing that she wasn't going to hit the sheets anytime soon, Joan gently hugged her blanket and made her way towards the front door.

Upon quietly opening the door, the young woman noticed that Michaels's back was facing her while his attention remained on the world outside the boundaries of the Girardi's front yard. She was about to make her presence known, not wanting to startle the young field agent. However...

"It's almost midnight, Joan."

Before sitting next to Michaels, she flicked the porch light on. He glanced over his shoulder, tossing her a small smile before turning his gaze towards the neighborhood once more. "What're you doing outside of the house?" He asked her, his hands fiddling with themselves and his gaze locked straight ahead.

"Was about to ask you the same thing. Except I would've substituted _car_ instead of _house_."

Michaels gave an amused glance Joan's way, as she sat herself right next to him. With a slight shrug, he replied. "You have a better view of the neighborhood right here. Did you know that?"

"Oh yeah." Joan bantered along with him. "That's why my father specifically bought this house. Because the Real Estate Agent assured him that _this porch_ provided _the_ best view of the entire neighborhood. _Period_." Despite the situation, she softly laughed. With a timid smile, "So seriously, what gives?"

"About?"

"This. When my dad explained that he was going to have our house under tight security, I hadn't figured on you taking the first watch."

To Joan's surprise, a tiny, sheepish smile appeared on Michaels's lips, as he slightly glanced up before turning towards her. Sincerity was in his voice as he explained, "Your mother asked if I could help watch over you and your family... and who am I to say 'No'?"

Joan glanced down, quietly smiling though quickly she began to scold herself . Refusing to acknowledge a blush and a flattery, she took a moment before facing Michaels again. Despite the dramatic situation, Joan could feel an inkling of a crush being born. Which was ridiculous on her part because not only did she have a boyfriend, an _amazing_ one at that, but also a few hours ago she began questioning her breakup with her _former_ boyfriend! Joan knew it would be unwise on her end to develop a crush on not just a _way_ older man, but someone that was merely here doing a job. Though, Joan had to admit, there was something about Michaels that she not only felt _attracted _to, but he also had a trusting, comforting presence about him. In fact, the last time she experienced a crush like this was nearly a few years ago when--

"It's not that bad." Michaels spoke up, causing Joan to break her train of thought. "Besides," He glanced down his side and at his cellphone. "At around one, another officer will be here to take my place."

"Right," Joan tossed Michaels a coy grin, "Because you cops like to be well rested to catch the bad guys."

"Sleep is a human necessity, Joan. I'm not Superman."

This caused a laugh to escape Joan's lips. Realizing that she could very well wake her parents, she stifled her giggles a bit before softly glaring and giving Michaels a nudge. Michaels merely tossed her an amused grin, one in which Joan not only found slightly familiar, but thought it was quite adorable. As Michaels turned his gaze back onto the neighborhood, Joan followed suite and a comfortable silence fell upon them.

She broke the quiet, though, as a somber thought came to mind. "But I bet that with a job like yours, sleep is the last thing on your mind, huh?"

Keeping his attention straight ahead, "There are... there are things about my job that are _difficult_ to explain. To even comprehend." With that last part, Michaels had cast Joan a sad smile before once more turning his gaze forward.

Joan sadly nodded, "I know... My father's like that. At home, he rarely talks about what happens at work unless he feels that it's appropriate. He likes to keep that, I suppose _ugly_, side of his life away from us. Mom and us children. Lately, my dad hardly talks about his job at all... Unless..." Joan softly laughed, causing Michaels to meet eyes with her. He had tilted his head in a questioning manner, which caused her to continue with a shy grin. "Unless there's like a _happy ending_, y'know? If a little kid's missing but then found alive just hours later? Or if there was a mad car accident, but everyone survived. Dad doesn't mind talking about that part of the job..."

She gazed away from him, taking a reflective pause before adding with a tiny forced laugh, "So hopefully this situation will have a happy ending..."

Michaels regarded Joan with a look that caused a slight chill through her. Almost as if he was looking straight _into_ instead of _at_ her. The agent startled her by reaching for her hand and giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. With a smile that was kind, "I'll personally see to that, Joan." His shoulder gently nudged hers and with a wink, he added, "Just like I'll personally see to it that you go back upstairs and get some sleep."

"But," Joan began, giving him a small stubborn shake of her head. "I'm not tired."

"Joan..." Michaels started to give her the same reprimanding look that her own parents -- and strangely enough even God -- would toss in her direction.

"Why don't I sit with you until you get relieved of duty? I-I could go inside, make some hot chocolate? Or-_or_... if you prefer, I could make you coffee! Well, actually... I, uh... ha... I don't exactly know _how_ to make coffee but..." Joan sighed, taking note that he wasn't buying her excuses to stick around. "Michaels, c'mon... I _can't_ sleep, okay? I'm not at all--" A yawn suddenly escaped her lips, which caused the agent to raise his eyebrow at her.

"Not at all... _what_, Joan?"

With a meek reply, "Tired?" She sighed once more, "Is there nothing I can do that could convince you to let me stay up with you? Just-- just until you leave."

Michaels gave a gentle nudge as he shook his head, "Nope. It would be cruel of me to bargain with you, Joan."

Joan blinked as his words washed her with a sense of deja vu. She regarded Michaels and was once more thrown off by the particular way he was looking at her. Unsure, even feeling as if this was just merely the effects of today's news and lack of sleep, "Wha- what did you--"

His inquisitive, even sincerely puzzled, _"Joan?"_ reply caused her to bite back her questioning. She shook her head, "Never mind. Maybe I _am_ tired afterall..."

Joan stretched a bit, unintentionally yawning before standing up and gazing down at Michaels, who remained sitting and his attention back on the neighborhood. A thought came to her as Joan suddenly, and gently, removed her blanket and placed it on Michaels's shoulders. As soon as the fabric covered over him, a surprised, yet somewhat amused smile appeared on his face. He gazed up at Joan, who was now hugging herself yet remained beaming warmly at him.

"Joan--" He began, but was immediately cut off.

She gave a small nod, "Good night, Agent Michaels." Joan reached for the door and before slipping back inside, she shyly added, "And thank you."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

His eyes remained on Joan Girardi until she gently slipped back inside. Agent Michaels watched with a tender smile on his face. To keep appearance, and figuring that the young woman will no doubt watch _him_ even for a little bit before actually going back to her room, Michaels turned his gaze back to the night. A few minutes passed before the porch light blacked out and he heard her footsteps lightly ascending the stairs.

Thus his cue. With her blanket gently wrapped around him, Michaels quietly reached into the darkness of the Girardi's porch for a box. A cardboard box that held, if anything, contents that he couldn't allow Joan to uncover...

At least for tonight.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

To Luke Girardi's credit, he actually had a normal seventeen year old trait: Reluctantly pulling off a mundane chore, that is getting the newspaper, at a certain insane hour, that is seven o'clock in the morning.

It wasn't actually a _chore_, but it had become an accustomed Saturday morning duty that would have normally fallen onto his older brother's lap had Kevin, the former newspaper man turned college student, not moved out. And seven o'clock in the morning wasn't exactly an _insane hour_... but even he himself wouldn't stoop to waking up so early on a _Saturday_.

"Just because I strive on academia, does not make me any less of a sleep deprived, hormonal teenager." Luke muttered to no one in particular as he descended down the stairs and towards the front door.

Luke, to this day, was still currently trying to figure out how he had been roped into getting up _before_ everyone else just to retrieve the Saturday's edition of the _Arcadia Herald_. If anything, he still cursed his misfortune of getting up early that fateful Saturday morning just to wait on the front porch for Friedman. Friedman, his best friend (God only knows why because that was a mystery he himself was also figuring out), had to drop off the discs for a shared project that they were still working on. And because Friedman, unfortunately, had to leave town early that weekend, Luke had to not just get up early to obtain his half of the project, but had the misfortune to be caught sneaking back inside the house by the parental units.

It had started off as a punishment towards two Saturday mornings, but eventually grew into a weekly routine for the young man. Much to his dismay... "Note to self, persuade mom and dad into getting us a dog."

He yawned before rubbing his weary eyes once more. Luke reached for the door and opened it, just as another yawn escaped his lips. The young man took one step outside, glanced down...

_"Dad!!!"_

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: Cannot stress how much this is a complete work of _FICTION_. Any RL incidents that reflect/mirror to this story is out of pure coincidence.

Rating: Just to be safe, and since at the moment it's mainly for the language... this chapter alone is verging from PG-13 to an **R**.

A/N: I wish I had a David Creegan, a Johnny Smith, an Elliot Stabler and a Kris Lemche in my closet... Would make writing this a whole lot easier... actually, it _has_ because I'm drawing such great inspirations from those drool-worthy men mentioned... uh, okay, losing focus... Okay, before I let you enjoy this chapter, I have to let you know that I had to create a name for the church that our (and Helen's) favorite parish priest is in charge of. To be honest, I don't recall them having give the name of the church, so I made one up! Just for the sole purpose of this fanfiction. I also must apologize for any of my incorrect police terminology. I don't apologize for how they _act_... just the professional words they use on the job. Enjoy!

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_**St. Joseph's Cathedral -- Arcadia -- Maryland**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

_"My bologna has a first name, it's O-S-C-A-R..."_

Both Detective Rita Samstone and Special Agent Jonathan Michaels slowed their steps, especially to regard Detective David Christian with a mixed look of confusion and amusement. It took a couple of steps ahead, and a bar or two from the song, for David to realize that he was about to head into the Catholic church minus his two companions.

He turned around, noticing their inquisitive stares. "What?" Though both remained with an amused grin on their faces, Rita had her arms crossed, while Michaels looked away. David rolled his eyes at them, "Haven't you ever heard that commercial before?"

Rita approached David to give him a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Don't quit your day job, partner."

"Ha, ha." He replied with a dry tone in his voice. David looked over at Michaels, whose knowing smile still remained on his youthful face. With a glare, "What're you smiling about, Junior?"

Michaels replied with a small shrug as he began catching up with the L.A. detectives. It wasn't an answer that David was looking for, which caused the detective to further interrogate the young agent.

"What time did you get back last night?"

"Chris, don't..." Rita glared wearily at her partner. "We don't have time for your bruised macho ego crap, okay? We're on the clock."

David raised his index finger at Rita. "This'll just take a moment, partner." To Michaels, who had his own arms crossed in a calm and expected manner. "You were supposed to be relieved from duty at one A.M. on the dot."

"You mean from the Girardi's residence? Yes, another officer relieved me of my patrolling duties at _exactly_ one in the morning."

"So what time did you arrive back at your hotel room, Junior?"

To David's surprise, Michaels still remained in a relaxed state. Most young men David knew, especially those in such higher positions like Michaels was in, would've begun to show their age. It's not only insulting, but demeaning to be questioned by an _inferior_ a few years _older_ than oneself. If anything, David was surprised that Michaels didn't take offense... or at least he seemed to hide it very well. Despite himself, David was impressed.

"The drive from Euclid Street into downtown Arcadia is around... twenty? maybe thirty minutes depending on the traffic. Throw in the factor that the time _was_ one hour _after_ _midnight_... There was a parking attendant who saw me driving in between one thirty to one forty-five. Would you like me to obtain his statement so that he could prove to be a valuable alibi in my defense?"

"Are you being smart with me, Junior? Because--"

Rita grasped her partner's arm as she quietly snapped at him. "David." She looked over at the young agent, giving him an equally threatening glare. "Michaels." As she removed her grasp from David, "Both of you, quit it. We have a job to do. Whether you like it or not, we are _all_ working _together_ on this case. Which means whatever _this is_ between you two has got to stop. I am not going to have petty male rivalry screwing up this investigation. Keep in mind that this case won't be the only thing that could get fucked with... we're also talking about an innocent young woman's life!"

She took a breath as she regarded the two men. David turned his gaze away while Michaels gave a small nod in agreement. Rita pointed at the looming cathedral ahead of them. "See that church?" She then acknowledged the police squad car parked a few feet away. "See the RMP? According to Roebuck, who had received a call from an officer that was duty, there was a break-in reported early this morning that would be of interest to us. Can we go inside and at least _try_ to play the role of investigators... or do I need to put you both in your kiddie corners to think about your actions?"

Before any of them could reply, Rita's cell phone began to ring. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she rolled her eyes and reached for the phone. While she turned her back to face them, Michaels smiled amusingly as he turned to David. More like a statement than an inquiry, "She likes to take control of situations..."

With a pat on the shoulder, David quipped, "That's because she wears the pants in this family, Junior."

"Okay Will," They heard her speak into her phone, which piqued David's interest. Rita faced the two men once more, tossing them a glance while holding the conversation. "We'll be en route in a few." Rita snapped her phone shut as she began, "There's a situation over at Girardi's. Looks like our killer had paid them an early morning visit."

Both David and Michaels shared a tense look of concern. "What do you mean? And is Joan okay?" David asked.

"Joan's fine. Will explained that his family's a bit shaken up because there was a box left on their front porch that has The Slayer's name written all over it. He's aware that Roebuck had sent us to investigate the St. Joseph's break-in, but he's asked if we could stop on over quickly before he has forensics taking the box in for fingerprints."

Michaels's face revealed a hint of trouble, which caused David to twist his original _"What happened to the officer on patrol?"_ question to... "Michaels, did you see anything suspicious last night that you've might have forgotten to let us in on?"

"David." The detective ignored Rita's weary glare, instead opting to focus on Michaels's reaction to his accusation.

"Well," Michaels thoughtfully gazed skywards before answering with a nonchalant, "Not unless you account a pair of sneakers dangling off a lamp post a few blocks away from the Girardi's house as _suspicious_..."

"Hey!" Rita snapped once more, causing both men to take a literal step back. More calmly, "Kill each other on your own time, okay? If you two don't mind, I have a plan. We should split up and meet back at the station house in an hour. David, you and I are covering St. Joseph's. Michaels, think you can respond to the porch incident on your own?"

David seemed slightly offended as he crossed his arms and smirked. "Crack a whip, why don'tcha, partner? _Junior_ gets an option while _I_ get an order?"

Returning his smirk, "Why use a whip when I can just give a tug on your _lease_?"

He ignored Michaels's knowing smile and opted to reply to the woman's snicker. With an exaggerated, yet sarcastic laugh, "Ha ha! Cute!" David's face became deadpan as he then added a "Not funny."

Before they had a chance to protest, David began walking away from them and heading back towards the cars. He heard Rita call out to him, thus he turned around if only to continue walking backwards. "_I _will cover the Girardi's end of things while _you two_ make your spiritual confessions! We'll meet back at the APD headquarters." David spun back around as he tossed a backhanded wave towards them. "Tell the big G Kahuna I said Aloha!"

Rita, used to David's antics, merely shook her head. She gazed over at Michaels and was a bit surprised to see him with a mildly amused look rather than, how most others would react, gawking exchange. Lightly explaining her partner's behavior, "He has this... this _thing_ with..."

Michaels turned his head, giving her a raised glance. This caused Rita to slightly fluster, despite having been used to giving the same explanation. There was just something about the way Michaels was looking at her that was throwing her off. It wasn't an _unsettling _look... just _different_. Finally, "He has this _thing_ about... _against_... organized religions..."

"Well," Michaels began as he started on towards the main entrance of St. Joseph's. As they began walking in sync with one another, he replied with a lazy grin, "Wouldn't he be surprised, then, to realize that we might have something in common."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

Rita reached into her coat pocket, pulling out her notepad. They were patiently waiting in the hallway area near the entrance of the rectory. Inside the main congregation, two officers were still interviewing the parish's priests. She glanced up to regard Michaels, who had his arms crossed in a casual manner and was leaning against one of the church's inner pillars. Rita took note of the bemused look in his eyes as he began to silently take in his surroundings. It was then that she recalled his words before they had entered St. Joseph's.

"May I ask you a personal question?"

He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow to acknowledge her request. With a half smile and a small shrug, "Depends..."

Despite his casual demeanor, there was something about Michaels that began to intimidate the hell out of her. Maybe it was the way he steadily held onto her gaze, which caused a part of her to lock on to it as well and refuse to let go. Rita parted her lips when within a split second later she held her voice back. After a second's pause, "Do you believe in God?"

He shook his head though his reply was "That's not the question you wanted to ask me." Michaels's eyes looked upon her with a glint of accusation.

Genuinely surprised and confused, "What?"

Michaels, who had one foot up against the pillar, kicked himself off to straighten up. Still leaning, his arms crossed and a knowing smile on his face, "You hesitated. You wanted to ask me a question about my personal beliefs, but to avoid being PC you opted for the safer route."

Rita's face gave way to a small, yet guilty, smile. She gave a silent nod, which prompted Michaels to continue. "In any case, off the record, I don't have any religious preferences."

"Do you believe in God?"

"I believe in humanity." He simply replied. "The goodness that's possible in every human being. And I am aware of how naive and idealistic it sounds, but... with all due respects, that's what I believe in."

Rita sadly looked away before turning back to face him. Her voice was laced with a tinge of remorse as she said, "Well, Agent Michaels, if you're planning on staying in this particular line of work... I hope to God you hold on to such beliefs. This job... what we see out there... it makes even the best of us wonder what's left of _humanity_ there is to protect."

Michaels observed her shift in behavior. Changing the subject a bit, "If you don't mind me asking, what about you? What do you believe in?"

Surprised, "What do _I_ believe in? Like... God?"

He replied with a shrug though still looking at her with eyes that seemed to tell her that no matter what her answer is, he'll see the truth.

Rita bit her lower lip and looked away, silently contemplating her response. To be honest, she wasn't quite clear as to the answer herself. One on hand, she didn't consider herself as a religiously devote "Sunday church goer." On another, there are times when she did believe in _some kind_ of "Higher Power." However, there are also times -- most particularly on the job -- when she'd question on such "Almighty" existence. Despite her conflicted views, there was something comforting in the knowledge that she wasn't the only one feeling that way. Rita knew, despite David's own avoidance of said issues, that her partner was just as troubled.

Michaels broke her quiet contemplation, causing her to look at him as he began speaking. As if reading her mind, "It's hard isn't it? One moment you'll consider believing in something _powerful_... from seeing the beauty of a child being born to observing a natural majesty like a clear starry night..." His voice then took a shift from quiet awe to hardened dismay and remorse. "But then guns go off, children get murdered, blood is spilled and you wonder... If God is supposedly a 'father'; why is He letting this happen?"

A quiet fell upon the two as they allowed Michaels's words to sink in. Rita couldn't explain it, but she began to feel numb upon hearing his monologue. As if there seemed to be a hopelessness if Michaels himself began doubting. It was his eyes, Rita however observed, that gave cause for her not to worry. Despite his troubled words, his eyes seemed to hold a spark of redemption and even hope.

The doors to the congregation hall suddenly opened and a uniformed officer stepped out. The officer, who held the same youthfulness as Michaels, gave an acknowledged nod to them. He walked towards them and despite his professional stance, the young man slipped a small smile their way. "Morning. I'm Officer Logan. You must be..."

"Detective Samstone. That's Agent Michaels."

"The chief radioed in. Saying that you'll be taking over this particular investigation?"

With her notepad in hand, "It depends, officer."

Caught off guard by her reply, "On what, ma'am?"

Michaels answered for Rita, "Whether or not this routine break-in has anything to do with a particular case that we're working on."

Before Rita could ask for the details, the two investigators were surprised -- Rita more so than Michaels -- by Logan's soft snicker. Verbally making note of it, Logan began explaining himself by opening the main doors and leading them inside.

"Agent Michaels, trust me... there isn't anything _routine_ about this break-in."

"Who's the RP?" Rita asked as Logan gave a nod towards the front half the church. At his partner, who was questioning a man sitting in a pew with his back facing the approaching officers.

"A Father Ken Mallory runs this parish and he's the one that made the call."

Rita nodded towards the man in the pew. "That him?"

"Yes, ma'am. My partner, Officer Lemche, is interviewing him right now on his whereabouts last night."

Michaels took note of the yellow police tape circled around the church's alter. As he observed the scene, his demeanor began to shift between anger and exasperation. He started to make his way towards the area, his steps careful and professional despite his shoulders hunched in a tense manner.

Rita regarded Michaels a bit before resuming conversation with officer Logan. Though her eyes were on Michaels, to Logan, "From where did Father Mallory discover the break-in? It's obviously not the main doors because there's no evidence of forced entry--"

Logan shook his head as he cut in Rita's observation. "Mallory's not the one that discovered the break-in, detective Samstone. He's the one that _reported_ the incident."

Michaels, whose gaze was focused on the alter, looked up and locked eyes with Rita, whose own gaze turned inquisitive. Rita looked back at Logan, "Come again."

"According to Father Mallory, at around seven thirty this morning, he was woken up by his colleague, a Father Aramea. It was Aramea, who had made the discovery, that alerted Mallory into calling the police."

Rita stared at Logan, the look of surprise and confusion evident on her face. Her voice a bit hesitant as she asked, "Aramea? As in Father _Dean_ Aramea?"

"Yes... yes, ma'am." Logan glanced from Rita to Michaels, who joined them once more, and back on to Rita. "Do you know him?"

Rita looked down, slightly shaking her head in disbelief. Finally, she gazed up and with a small laugh, "Not as well as my partner, I'm afraid..."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 15, 2001 -- Saturday**_

Upon arriving at Will Girardi's home, David Christian had to flash his ID at the patrol unit that was currently on duty. He immediately recognized Will's partner, Lt. Williams, walking around the front porch area as they were awaiting for the arrival of CSU to take various preliminary notes and photographs.

"Lieutenant." David called out to Toni Williams, to which she nodded in acknowledgment and began addressing the other officers.

"Let him through, guys."

"The aroma of Starbucks has nothing against the fresh smell of a crime committed in the morning. Am I right or what?" The L.A. detective snickered as he joined Toni's side. "So, besides trespassing on private property, and of course multiple homicides, what else should we prosecute the Slayer with? Bad taste in gift giving? Heard the bastard left a present for our gal Girardi."

It was then that his eyes landed upon the porch area that was taped off from the general public. Dead set in the middle was a cardboard box with a miniature flock of sheep -- six from David's count -- purposely spaced out in various spots and positions. However, it wasn't the box, nor the contents, itself that caught the detective's attention.

David blinked, "Uh... is that box covered with what I _think_ it's covered with?"

With a deadpan expression that would have caused David to laugh were he not involved in such a dire situation, Toni replied, "Fruit punch's not that thick nor that _red_."

"Nor looking that _fresh_." David sighed. "Which unfortunate soul was lucky enough to stumble onto this treasure box?"

"The youngest. Luke. His family's trying to get him to come out of his room so that the uni's can take down an official statement. Roebuck's orders much to Will's dismay. The poor kid... Came downstairs to pick up the morning paper, saw the box, saw the _blood_..." Williams shook her head as a sigh escaped her lips. "Instead of an alarm clock, Will was woken up by the sounds of his son screaming for him."

"A sound no father wants to hear, huh?" David hitched his pant legs to sit in a squat position, for closer inspection of the box without tampering the scene. His eyes were on the red stained flock as he said, "Guess this means we can finally rule out _Joan Girardi_ as a decoy." It took a minute or so for David to finally look away, shaking his head in disgust as he mumbled, "God we're dealing with a sick fucker..."

_"You don't have to tell me twice, detective."_

As Will stepped outside to join his fellow officers, both David and Toni took note of the man before them and the immediate change of appearance within the last twelve hours. Instead of the normal rough _"I'm ready to kick some ass"_ stance that Toni was used to greeting every morning in the station house, now stood a weary _"I don't want to be here"_ man in Lieutenant's clothing. Will might have been dressed and professionally alert and ready to work, but the haggard look on his face made it seem as if he didn't give a damn and hasn't had a peaceful night's rest in ages. It would've been a completely disheartening and hopeless situation had they not seen the flicker of anger and determination in Will's eyes as they landed on the blood soaked box.

Without waiting to be asked, "Luke, my son, the most logical and most _sound_ in mind... _traumatized_ upon seeing _that box_ covered with _blood_ on our doorsteps. It took a lot of convincing on Helen's part to get him to come out of his room just to relive opening _this_ Pandora's Box for the sake of police procedure." Will momentarily closed his eyes, sighing, "Damn, I need a smoke..." and an image flashed before his eyes.

A recent memory of descending down the stairs earlier that morning, after having heard Luke's cries. Seeing his son's pale and shaken form patiently, expectantly, waiting for him. Saw as Luke gave him this hard look of disbelief before wordlessly turning to kneel down before the bloody package. Before Will had the chance to stop him, verbally or physically, Luke, before the stunned eyes of both his parents and his sister, reached out and gently touched the box. The young man raised his hand, his fingers marked with crimson, and made a remark before calmly heading back to his room.

_"It's real."_

"What did you say, Will?"

Will blinked his eyes, his son's departing words echoing through his memory like a ghost that wouldn't leave. He had unintentionally spoke those words, but unlike the way Luke had spoken it with an eerie calm, his voice was laced with cold rage. Will turned to face the two detectives before him, the hardness in his eyes unmistakable. "I want the next blood to be spilled coming straight out of that _psycho's body_. And _I_ want to be the one to make it pour."

Both David and Toni exchanged a concerned, even fearful, look as they regarded this side of Will. Toni always thought that Will was kidding around whenever he'd make cultural jokes about his Italian roots with it's biggest stereotype; _The Godfather_. However, seeing the fierce determination in his eyes and the murderous tone in his voice caused the detective to think otherwise. David hadn't known Will long enough, but from what he's personally seen and heard, you don't want to mess with Will Girardi _the cop_. However, David started to realize that you also don't want to mess with Will Girardi _the father_.

Needing to ease the growing tension, David added, "Well... _I _want to know is how the hell did The Slayer get past the watchful eye of the rotating officers? We had _how many_ guys staking out your house last night, Girardi?"

"Two. Agent Michaels and Officer Reed. Reed relieved Michaels at around one and was supposed to remain until the end of his shift, which was seven o'clock. Another officer, Smith, was to take over." Toni explained to both Will and David.

"David, did Michaels report any suspicious activities during his watch?" Will asked.

"As much as I hate to admit this, if Michaels took note of anything suspicious or dangerous lurking around... he would have reported it. Off the record, there's something about Michaels that I don't like... but on the record, Junior seems sincerely, maybe -- and this is purely my gut feeling -- even _personally_ dedicated to this case."

Will nodded, "I had a feeling that you didn't think too highly of the agent..."

David shrugged and with a slight smirk, "Who knows... maybe this old timer's just envious of the youth."

"In any case," Toni interjected, "According to Reed, there was no box to be seen on the front porch when he arrived _and_ when Michaels had departed. The area was pretty much clear." She continued by pointing at the porch light and the lamp post across the street. "And it still would have been impossible to hide such a package from such a straight plain open sight, regardless of the nature of -- or lack thereof -- those two light sources."

"So how the hell did this guy get past an officer on patrol to drop off a package directly _in front_ of my front door?" Will inquired, his voice coming out with a bigger growl of frustration than necessary.

Almost hesitant, Toni began, "There... there _was_, however, a possible open window of opportunity." Both of the men's eyes were on the Lieutenant as she explained, "At around the end of his shift, and just as Smith was to arrive on scene, Reed had left the post to check on a disturbance nearly a block away, down South, from here. According to Reed, they had both seen something like a light -- maybe a _flare gun _--going off."

"I would have heard something like that going off. Especially _a block away_ from here."

"Reed had seen some kind of -- to quote -- 'brilliant light' being shot up towards the sky. And since it was only a block away, he drove over to investigate."

David sighed as dreaded realization sunk in. "Please tell me that he didn't leave his post until _after_ Smith took over. "

All it took was for Toni to reluctantly look away, though she started to explain, "Reed radioed Smith, asking for his location and how long he would arrive on scene. Smith replied that he was less than five minutes away." She added a shrug, "Apparently some of us think that five minutes isn't as long."

"Tell me that he found something. Anything?" Will asked, not knowing whether to seethe over the young officer's lack of protocol or hope that it was worth the trouble.

Toni shook her head, "Nothing obvious to the naked eye, that's for sure. Though, Reed was smart enough to look down and possibly make out faint black smudges on the pavement. So as soon as CSU is finished up over here, I'm sending them down the street."

"Think it could be gun powder residue?" David asked, his eyes once more descending upon the crimson package. He once more bent into a squat position as he began studying this little "present."

"We won't know until the ballistic reports come in." Was Toni's reply.

"In the mean time..." David started, "Let's try this again. One o'clock, Michaels left and Reed took over. Things were fine and dandy on the Girardi front until a few minutes before seven. Reed sees _the light_, radio in Smith, who's only less than five minutes away, and Reed takes it upon himself to desert his post in an attempt to contact 'The Mothership.' Will, what time did Luke discover the box?"

As if piecing the puzzle right along with David, "At around the same time that Reed left his post. Around seven. Every Saturday around seven AM, for the past few weeks, Luke has been the one to pick up the morning paper."

Toni followed suit. "So once Reed was gone, the box was dropped off and barely a few minutes after that..."

"I wake up to the sounds of my boy's desperate cry."

David stood back up, stretching a bit as his eyes began to canvas the area around them. As he regarded the neighborhood, "First thing's first, let's get both the forensics report on the blood and hopefully even some fingerprints if it's possible, as well as the ballistics report on the mysterious smudge on the road. Secondly..." David turned to Will, his voice steady and professional despite his question, "Where's the paper?"

"What?"

With a slight nonchalance, "Do you have this morning's paper?"

"Detective," Will began, his voice in disbelief, "I didn't exactly have time to read the latest Front Page Headlines. I actually had more important things to worry about than a Saturday's edition of the_ Herald_."

"What I'm asking, Will, is if Luke saw the box _after_ he had gotten the paper or _before_. Because if I were him, if I had seen that bloody mess _before_ picking up the newspaper, all thoughts of this week's news Headline would've been out the door."

"He didn't have anything in his hands prior to..." Will briefly shuddered, "I didn't see any paper in his hands. So I'm assuming that he didn't have the chance to pick it up."

"Right. So the paper would have been left and forgotten on the yard... or the front porch..."

Realization dawned on both Toni and Will as to what David was proposing. Noticing that there wasn't any newspaper left untouched on the grass or on the porch itself, Toni started to dial her cell phone. To the men, "I'll call the _Herald _and ask them who was assigned to this deliver route."

David glanced behind him and towards the closed front door. His voice was sympathetic as he asked, "How's Joan doing through all this?"

Will looked over at David before turning away to regard the quiet neighborhood. With a mixture of unease and relief, "Honestly..." Will glanced down, shaking his head as he nervously laughed, "I don't know. I mean, this morning she was terrified for Luke. We all were, actually. We've never seen him in such a state of shock before... not even on the night of Kevin's accident." He looked back up at David, "After a while, Joan started to take charge of things while Helen tried to talk to Luke. She never said much. Never really noticed much of a reaction..." Will paused, then added as an afterthought, "Though, she has asked for Michaels."

David blinked, both surprised and mildly bemused by this. He nodded, "Before I left St. Joseph's, I had told Rita and Michaels that I would meet them afterwards at the station house. Y'know, to compare notes and all... But I'm sure they won't mind stopping by over here." With a small laugh, "Don't tell me your daughter has taken a liking to Junior."

For the first time since this morning's incident, Will had allowed a good nature laugh. As a snicker escaped his lips, "Just what I need, huh? It's bad enough my daughter has a boyfriend and an ex who happens to still be her best friend... but now a Government Agent that's nearly a _decade_ older than her?"

David added with a smirk, "What's the greater of two evils; three different men or one psycho killer?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, David quickly cursed himself as the shared laughter began to fade. With a meek cough, "That wasn't funny..."

Will replied with a deadpan expression, despite the bemused look in his eyes, "No, it wasn't."

**_JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA_**


	6. Chapter Six

A/N: I am enjoying all of the reviews and I thank you all for them! I'm especially loving all the wondering and speculating of Michaels's character. It shows that I'm doing my job and I hope on having you all wondering about him until the very end.

If you think you've gotten this story and its characters figured out... well, I guess you might not be too surprise by the curve balls that'll be thrown in the future. All those that know me know that I enjoy tossing in twists within each of my stories. This one is definitely no different. And if you're wondering just how many new characters I'll be adding (not counting the extras i.e. the various uniformed officers)... only a few more. So in total, I should technically own around say _five or six _original characters? You'll meet one of them in this chapter and trust me, they are _really _vital to the "case." So... enough small talk; Enjoy!

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

**CHAPTER SIX**

_**St. Joseph's Cathedral -- Arcadia -- Maryland**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

"What do you suppose he's trying to tell us?"

Agent Michaels gave a raised look in Detective Samstone's direction. His gaze had been locked onto the alter area that was sealed off with yellow tape. Officer Logan was currently talking with his partner, Officer Lemche, on the side while Father Mallory had been sent to call upon his colleague, a Father Dean Aramea. Which left Rita Samstone to join the young agent's side.

Michaels's silence prompted Rita to continue. "He leaves behind a white, little plush lamb. The color white represents... innocence. Purity. The animal itself, the lamb, is a symbol of such. He writes _their names _on each of those lambs. Basically altogether saying that each of his victims were _innocent_. _Pure_." Rita bit her lip as she further contemplated, "So what is he trying to say _now_?"

Rita watched as Michaels reached into his jacket's inner pockets and pull out a pen. Not wanting to tamper evidence, especially since the CSU had yet to arrive, the agent used the pen to gently turn the little play school toy lamb that was laying on the alter before them. They could only now assume, based on MOs, that the break-in was caused by non other than their serial killer. As their eyes rested on the toy and the familiar name that was penned on it, Michaels said, "It means that Little Bo Peep has lost a sheep... One with the name _Joan Girardi_."

Before Rita could comment on how he was starting to sound like David a sentence ago, Michaels's cell phone began to ring. An amused smile played on her lips upon hearing the young agent's unique taste in ringtones. Just as he was about to answer, Rita smirked, "Is that the song '_Iris_'?"

Casting her a sheepish grin before excusing himself outside of the church halls, "It was either this or '_When the Saints (Go Marching In)_'."

Rita's eyes followed him as he walked away to answer the call. She was suddenly aware that the other two officers, Lemche and Logan, were starting to make their way towards her.

Officer Lemche, who seemed to remind Rita of a younger David with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and a somewhat cocky grin, gave a nod at the detective. Though despite the rascal appearance, Lemche timidly asked, "Detective Samstone? If there's nothing else we can do for you regarding this investigation--"

The sound of doors opening from the very front of the church interrupted Lemche, especially as both priests, Mallory and Aramea, entered the scene. As they were making their way towards them, both dressed in their priestly slacks, Rita held a hand up to the other officers. "Actually, would you both mind staying for a while? I want to discuss your findings and later, down at the station, after you file your reports I'd like to have a copy of them for my own notes."

Logan glanced at the main entrance doors, "Do you want me to call your partner back inside, ma'am?"

With a vague smile, "I think I can handle questioning Father Aramea on my own."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"Hello?"

_"Hi... uh, Agent Michaels. It's me..."_

A small smile appeared on Michaels's face. He gently sat himself down on the top step of the church. His gaze on the outside world despite his attention to the familiar voice on the other end of the line. "Joan..."

She gave an uncertain laugh and he heard the hesitance in her voice. _"I-- I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you. I know you said that I could call you anytime I need to talk to you and-- I'm not bothering you, am I? I mean, if it's a bad time because I know that my father had called Rita asking if you guys would stop by... but I only see David outside and then I remembered that dad said you guys were responding to another incident and--"_

"Joan." Michaels interjected and despite the sharpness in his tone, there was an amused smile on his face. "Breathe..."

_"I don't usually babble..."_ Was her meek reply.

Michaels nodded, though the look in his eyes said that he didn't quite believe her. Not wanting to voice such thoughts, but merely wanting to ease her nerves, "Take a breath and tell me what's wrong."

There was a pause, though he could hear her breathing. Finally, _"Nothing's wrong... I mean-- well, _y'know _besides what had happened this morning, but... okay, I- I- I don't know why but... Ijustneedtoseeyou."_

Despite being over the phone, Michaels raised his brow in questioning. An awkward silence fell over the line; Joan waiting for his response and Michaels waiting for her to explain herself. The quiet quickly became nerve wracking on Joan's end, which caused her to start again. This time around, Michaels didn't hear the desperation in her voice... at least she was able to hid it a lot better.

_"I mean... well, I just wanted to know if you and Rita were stopping by later to check out the... to- to check out... _the box_. Which, by the way, I'm still hoping that it's some neighborhood punk kid's cruel idea of a joke instead of actually being from-- Oh, God, I'm sorry! I'm babbling again..."_

Michaels glanced heavenwards and shook his head. Making sure that Joan didn't take note of the anger and frustration in his voice, he took a breath himself and asked, "Joan, breathe and I don't want you to worry, okay?"

_"Right before I called you, I overheard my dad and David talking on the porch. David had made this-- this _dumb_ comment about... well, about lesser of two evils; the non family men in my life or a _psycho killer_. Then my dad started on about how he's thisclose to placing me under complete and total _house arrest_!"_

"A parent would do anything to protect their child, Joan."

_"But Michaels! I would think it's pretty, uh, _pointless_ to hold me hostage in the very same home that this asshole had just visited!"_

"Language..."

_"Sorry... I-- I just need to see a familiar face outside from my home."_

He once more heard the desperation in her young voice. This time it was mixed with exasperation and unease... a combination with a possible dangerous result. In a soft yet warning voice, "Joan... I suggest you _think_ before you act. Not all ideas that feel right at the time will feel good at the end."

The pause that followed didn't ease Michaels one bit. Finally she spoke, though her tone held a certain distance. Even... disappointment? _"I have to go... My dad's coming back inside... probably to check up on us."_

Michaels didn't try to stop her as she hung up on him, the line becoming cold and lifeless as...

He look up again, not at all afraid to hide the emotions in his eyes. Emotions ranging from fear, anger, pain and sadness. He took a moment just to stare up at the heavens before closing his eyes and taking a breath. A soft chuckle slipped out of his lips as he murmured to no one in particular.

"Don't go getting yourself killed, Joan..."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

While officers Logan and Lemche took to a corner of the parish, leading Father Mallory with them, Rita took Father Aramea to the opposite side. In front of the others, they had exchanged pleasantries as if they were merely old associates in passing. However, the way they regarded one another had spoke volumes. Saying that they shared a lot more than they were letting on.

As they sat together on the pew farthest from the others, in the privacy of their limited proximity, did they allow their shields down to cast one another a warm smile.

Father Dean Aramea, with his hair softer and lighter than the last time Rita had seen him seemed to have this aura. Then again, for as long as she had known him, which was about as long as she had known her partner, Dean was the opposite of his older half-brother, David. Which meant that while David came off as a temperamental, cynical, jaded, sarcastic, pure pain in the ass... Dean, six months younger, was sensitive, patient, open and accepting. Though David would always proclaim how Dean didn't share any physical traits that would announce them as related, Rita however saw the difference... in the eyes. Both men expressed the same twinkle of mischievous and the same soulful concern in their blue eyes.

Rita quickly observed Dean's nervousness, especially as he began rubbing the area between the upper half of his chest and lower part of his throat. It was then that, despite wearing his garb -- white collar and all -- Dean still held onto a childhood pendant that his father had given him when he was a little boy. David had explained that as children, whenever Dean would become uncomfortable, he'd play with the pendant "as if it was some security blanket that would protect him from the evil monsters."

"I..." Dean glanced away for a moment before resuming, "I-- I know that you're here to talk about the break-in, but... can we just talk for a moment _off the record_. Not as priest to detective but as Dean to Rita? As friends with one common bond?"

"Whose birth name happened to be David Christian Aramea?"

Dean crinkled his nose and gave a soft laugh, "Wow, when you put it that way... is it any wonder why Davey simply kept it as David Christian? He must want to strangle you whenever you get the chance to say it out of banter."

"About as much as whenever you refer to him as _Davey_." Rita laughed quietly. "Which, by the way, he _still_ wants to hurt you for telling me his birth name."

Dean's smile slightly faded. The light in his eyes became far and away as he mused, "It's our father..."

Rita blinked, confused. "What?"

"Our dad." Dean shrugged, though the pain evident in face and speech. "I was always praying... hoping that the drift between our father and David would heal. He was always angry at dad, trying to denounce everything he would say and do. Davey even told me straight out that once he was old enough, he'd legally change his name not just to spite father, but because he didn't want any part of 'that man' in his life. That it was 'bad enough' they share DNA, but that the only good thing to come from father was..."

Dean then looked up at Rita, casting her a proud, yet slightly sheepish, smile. "Well, _me_. I thank God that I was blessed to have David for a brother. I've come across most children of divorce and infidelity that often take their anger of the parent towards the sibling. Believing that it was not only their own fault, but the other child's as well. David wasn't like that. Not once did I ever have to question his brotherly love for me... even now when I probably should..."

Rita recalled David's talk about the near decade long estrangement that had unfortunately grown between two brothers that, as children, were so close. How, despite rarely seeing each other around LA, they were more like acquaintances than brothers. Wanting to ease his apparent troubled emotions, "He still cares about you, Dean. These past few years have started to take its toll... but you know how bull headed he is. I'm not saying that _this_ is a bad profession, but David had always... well, he believes that you... deserve... better?" Rita groaned, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that... Well, you know David and how agnostic he can be. Even verging on atheism if pushed too far."

Dean had a pensive look in his eyes as he glanced away. As if the memory was painful enough, "I... I was hoping that transferring back to LA would be a permanent move. Not only would I finally be able to take care of dad, but also fix whatever went wrong with my brother." He gave a sad laugh, "But once more, wherever the church says I should go, I have to go, right? Which is why I'm here and not back in California..."

"We're here on a special assignment."

"Does the 'we' mean you and..."

Rita nodded, "Yeah... Your brother and I are practically joined at the hip."

She regarded Dean, especially as he reacted to her small joke with a soft laugh and a pained smile. "Y'know... maybe now isn't a good time to talk. Why don't I get your office number and we could make a proper appointment." Rita started to stand up and Dean followed suite.

"Well, I had given the officers my number and... uh... are-- are you sure? I mean, Mallory said that you needed to ask more questions about the break-in and I don't mind going over again what I'd just told officer Logan."

"Yes I did, but it's just for my own notes. I can always make a copy of Logan's report and, of course, call you if I have any more questions... And _maybe_... maybe I won't be alone in seeing you again."

"That's only if he wants to, Rita. I don't want to strong hold him into doing anything that he doesn't want to." As a rueful afterthought before excusing himself, "David had enough of that from dad..."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

The young priest retreated into his office. First he had to deal with last night's unexpected escapades and now the occurrence happening within his own parish? The echoes of last night's headache began haunting him like a bad hangover. As Father Dean Aramea reached into his desk, searching for his bottle of aspirin, a framed photograph caught his eye. All thoughts of searing pain and its reliever were forgotten upon casting his gaze on a memory of long ago.

Dean gently picked up the photograph and a remorseful smile appeared on his face. It was one of a rare few pictures taken of just the three of them; a young David, an even younger Dean and their father. The three faces of the past stared back at Dean and at first it provided the man with a warmth like no other. However, the smiles soon began to taunt Dean. Teasing him that the happy family he had always wanted between them was just a little boy's illusion. An illusion shattered by...

His hand instinctively reached up to stroke his upper chest area, wherein lies, underneath the black garb, a pendant. A token given to him by their father. As he reached into his shirt and pulled the silver chain out to gaze upon the charm and its delicate engravings, Dean wondered if David still kept his pendant as well... or if he had simply tossed it aside with no regrets as he had done with their last name.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"Hey..."

Rita exited from the church and paused at the top stoop upon seeing Michaels's hunched form staring out into the open horizon. She tossed him a smile and sat herself right next to him. "You didn't come back inside. Was your phone call that bad?"

He returned the smile, though it wasn't as light as he would have wanted. "Joan."

Her eyes flashed with concern, "Is she okay? Did something else happen?" Rita instinctively reached for her cell phone in order to contact her partner, but Michaels stopped her as he shook his head.

"It's not what you think... but Joan's not okay either... at least not _emotionally_."

"Well, can you blame her? Imagine you're a normal eighteen year old woman, about to not just graduate high school but also step out into the real world beyond the shelter and haven of home... and suddenly, you're told that your life is about to end unless a madman is stopped. I'd be just as helpless and terrified as she's probably feeling."

Almost cryptic-like, "Joan's not your normal eighteen year old..." He paused, glanced at Rita's confused reaction, and explained, "There's something about her that doesn't exactly scream 'average', y'know what I mean?" Michaels looked away, "I can't really explain it..."

Rita couldn't help herself as she gave the young agent a teasing nudge. With a soft snicker, "Do I detect a hint of a crush being born, Agent Michaels?"

Michaels laughed and shook his head, though it didn't quite convince Rita otherwise as he spoke, "It's not what you think."

"Oh? And that would be..."

"It could never happen." Was his earnest reply.

"And why not? You're an attractive young man, she's an attractive young woman... she's off age if that's what you're worried about. And I'm sure that her father, a cop, wouldn't mind his only daughter being courted by another gentleman of the law. And you're single, right? Or... well, unless you're..." Rita nervously trailed off. "But if you are, that's okay too... but then again, I've seen the way that you look at Joan and--"

A chuckle escaped Michaels's lips as he shook his head. "Rita, breathe. Look, it's... _complicated_... Y'know, maybe you can play cupid some other time, alright?" He gently stood up, "Lemche and Logan left before you did. They told me that you were just finishing up your talk with Father Aramea. Maybe you can tell me about it on our way over to the Girardis."

"Thought we were meeting David back at police headquarters."

As they made their way towards Michaels's rental, the agent replied, "We were... but then Joan called and there was something _unsettling_ in her voice."

"Like what?"

Michaels took a pause as he gazed up thoughtfully, "Well... like she's thinking about running again. Like last night? Except this time, where no one on earth, not even her family, can find her."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

Detective David Christian was patiently waiting for his colleagues to drive up. He leaned himself on the rental, hands in his pockets. The CSU had left minutes ago while Lt. Toni Williams headed back to the station house right after the unit. Will Girardi entered back into his home to check on his family, which left David alone to go over his notes. The detective would have struck up a conversation with the current officer on patrol that was parked a few feet away from him, but David wasn't in the mood to deal with pleasantries.

Now that he wasn't distracted by his job, he started to think about the last man on earth on whom he would ever give a second thought to; his father.

_"David... He is real. He will lead us, his faithful followers, into the Garden of Heaven. I believe that, my son, and you too will see it."_

David squeezed his eyes, mentally screaming at the voice in his head to "Shut-up."

_"Embrace the Truth, David. If you deny, you will kill all chances of being a part of his purest flock. Accept your destiny... just like your brother too will accept his..."_

An image of his half-brother, Dean, flashed before David's eyes. An image of Dean back in their childhood days... when the time was a lot more innocent and not tainted by the sins of their father. The old protective anger boiled within David as he growled at his father's voice. "You couldn't leave Dean alone... well, you had gotten what you wanted from your prodigal son. He is what you couldn't be because of me. But now that he's a priest, I pray to your bastard _God_ that he won't be the servant _you_ wanted him to be."

David looked up at the sky. Softly, as if speaking up at the peaceful clouds surrounding the heavens, yet his voice held such anger and conviction, "Just like how I'm not the man you wanted me to be..."

Unknowingly, he began feeling the upper chest area of his body... gently tugging on a small gold chain around his neck.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Apartment of Gavin Price -- Downtown Arcadia -- Maryland**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

"Uncle Vin?"

Gavin Price looked up from his Stephen King novel, _"The Dark Half"_, to meet his nephew's frantic eyes. Immediately concerned for the young man, Gavin sat up on the couch and placed his reading glasses on the coffee table. "What is it, Dane?"

Dane Aramis Price walked around the living room, every now and then stopping to allow his eyes to search a specific area. "Have you seen my pendant? I thought I left it on the dresser in my room last night.. but it's not there anymore. And I need to find it before I leave to meet Joan at her house this afternoon." He stood up to face his uncle, giving him a small smile. "Which, by the way, you said that it was okay for me to go."

With a raised look and a grin that said that he wasn't buying it, "Did I?"

"Yes, uncle Vin." Dane spoke. "Yes you did, remember? Last night while you were busy vacuuming the carpet, I asked if I could study all day _Sunday_ and spend Saturday with my girlfriend." Dane soon made the mistake of lightly scoffing with a "And you proclaim yourself as the feared and revered, quick thinking VP of Arcadia High. Can't even remember a conversation that occurred a mere twelve hours ago."

Not taking his nephew's banter lying down, Gavin looked up thoughtfully, took an intended pause, and...

"Well, _I_ _do remember_ saying that you are to spend the better half of your Saturday studying for that AP Calculus exam that is to take place this Monday. An exam, _need_ _I remind you_, that you need to pass in order to maintain your grade point average. A GPA, _need you be reminded_, that will be one of a few factors evaluated by the UC Berkley Admissions Board. A university that, _as I recall_, you insisted on attending because your mother, my dear late sister Evelyn, was an alumnus."

Dane glanced down sheepishly for he was genuinely at a lost for words. When he looked back up, giving his uncle a helpless shrug, Gavin took it as his cue to continue.

With a sly grin, "Oh, and I also _remember_ that I had told you _many times over_ to never leave your pendant laying around on the coffee table." Gavin thus produced, out of his pockets, a golden chain and its engraved charm. "The vac almost sucked it up whole."

A relieved smile appeared on the young man's face. He took the pendant out of his uncle's grasp and placed it around his neck. Beaming thankfully at him, "Thanks, uncle Vin. Next time, it's going straight to my top dresser."

As Dane sadly looked upon the charm, he softly added "I don't know what I'd do without it... It's the only thing of my father's that I have left..."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: Girl does not own any JoA characters. So far, I only own the plot, the mysterious Sheep Slayer, and a various assortment of original characters. And I know I sound redundant in saying this but... damnit I wish owned CuteBoyGod... or even his alter ego Kris Lemche.

A/N: Wow... the reviews are in and they are a KILLER! As in, I am killing with suspense! LOL I'll take that as an honored compliment. Thank you all! Okay, this chapter that you are about to partake in... well, it is my shortest one of all the chapters (epilogue not withstanding). I actually intended this chapter to be the shortest because it is the _next _chapter (number Eight) that is not only important, but there's a dynamic about to be changed. In other words, get ready for a major plot twist. Which is why if it takes me a while to update, it's not because I'm slacking... it's because I'm putting my all into the upcoming chapters that'll lead up to the climatic end. So... enough chit-chat: Enjoy!

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_**Apartment of Gavin Price -- Downtown Arcadia -- Maryland**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

"Mr. Rove. What a pleasant surprise."

Adam Rove gave a tentative wave and a somewhat awkward smile, "Hey, Mr. Price."

Gavin Price crossed his arms, clearly amused. If someone was to tell him back in 2004 that Adam Rove would be at his door, wanting to talk to his nephew, Dane Price, who had become an acquaintance of Adam Rove and company, Gavin himself would have laughed in utter disbelief. And afterwards, he would suggest to said someone that, for their own well-being, they admit themselves for psychiatric treatment.

However, Gavin found that time -- and yes, even people -- can bring about not just change, but surprise. One in which the biggest surprise in the form that Dane, a young man that he considered like a son ever since he was conceived long ago, started dating Joan Girardi. His Dane seeing a young woman who had pulled off some _questionable_ activities in the past and often or not even now, though not as intense as her first year attending Arcadia High. Though, he trusted Dane's judgment and if his nephew saw something special in Miss Girardi, only for him would Gavin bite back a protest... at least for now.

Thus another con to bear in having Dane dating Joan was Gavin having to cross paths with both Adam Rove and Grace Polk _outside_ of school grounds -- much to both parties reluctance. "Y'know," Gavin began thoughtfully, though there was a trace of mocking in his voice, "When Dane came to live with me and to attend Arcadia High a few months back, I had _always hoped_ that he would become the best of friends with -- of all people -- yourself, Mr. Rove, with Miss Girardi, and Miss Polk. Now I can _certainly_ rest easy in knowing that my nephew, who is like a son I never had, is in _fine company_."

Adam clearly saw the sarcasm though refusing to point it out. Instead, he replied with a soft, "Uh... thanks..." Glancing inside, "Can I talk to Dane? If he's home, that is..."

Not missing an opportunity to take a jab at the student, with a glint in his eye, "May I."

"Huh?"

His arms were still crossed and a smirk was evident on his face. "Try using the phrase 'May I' next time, Mr. Rove? Not only is that a proper way to ask permission, but it sounds a lot more courteous than what your generation's used to saying."

_"Uncle Vin, what have we talked about before?"_

Both eyes at the doorway turned to face Dane's approaching form. The young man crossed his own arms, though not directing his own amusing glance at Adam, but at his uncle. With mock disapproval, "How many times have we been over this? You are _only_ to cause trouble to Girl Scouts, salesmen, and Jehovah's Witnesses. _Not_ my friends."

Gavin glanced between Adam and Dane before giving a compliant nod. Before he walked back to the living room, and back to his novel, Gavin reached over, smirked, and ruffled Dane's soft blond locks. "Smart-ass."

Dane chuckled, smoothed his hair, then turned his gaze towards Adam. He reached over to hold the door open, "Hey, Rove. Come on in."

Adam began cracking his knuckles while shuffling his feet and looking back and forth between inside the apartment and out the halls. His actions of uncertainty caught Dane's, who was ever the observer, attention. He leaned against the door frame, once more crossing his arms. "Hey, what's up, man?"

"Grace is waiting in her car." Adam began, "We're getting something to eat at a diner not too far off. If you haven't eaten lunch yet..."

As Dane caught the small troubled plea in Adam's eyes, a sudden knot in his stomach twisted as one thought came to mind at his friend's "We need to talk" subtlety. He quietly asked, "Joan?"

All it took was recognizing that same mirrored look of concern in Adam's eyes for Dane to nod, "Yeah-- yeah, I haven't eaten yet. Let me just grab my things and we're out."

Adam smiled gratefully at Dane, once more reassured that he can trust him with their Joan.

The young man momentarily disappeared into his room, then reappeared with his jacket, wallet and keys. As Dane began placing his jacket on, he turned to his uncle, who was watching him despite holding his paperback. "Uncle Vin? Can I--" Dane stopped, bit back his tongue and with a twinkle in his eye, "I mean, _May I_ go out and have lunch with my friends?"

Before Gavin could give his approval, his nephew was already half way out the door. Calling out to him, "Hey! And what about your Calculus exam?"

Dane poked his head back in and tossed Gavin his patent "Dane the smart-ass" smirk before replying and shutting the door behind him.

"Oh, don't worry about it! Check this out: A square plus B square equals C... you later!"

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

"Your move, Einstein."

Joan Girardi gave an encouraging smile at her younger brother, Luke. While she patiently waited for Luke to make his move on the chessboard in front of them, Joan took the time to observe him.

It had been a few hours since the morning's unfortunate incident, and only a mere hour or so since their mother, Helen, was able to break through Luke's shell shock psyche. With his mother by his side, the young man was able to sit down and verbally relive the morning to an officer -- not his father -- for the standard routine procedure. When the statements were taken, Joan took it upon herself to keep her brother occupied... and maybe keep a watch just in case he were to unexpectedly break down again.

So here the two younger Girardi siblings sat. In the dining room area with a chess set between them. Joan had decided that if there was any activity worth keeping someone with a mind set like Luke busy, it would be this game of strategy. Despite all her brush off's and incessant complaining of the game, over time and with a few games played here and there between the two -- most by Luke's own insisting -- Joan had grown fond of chess... though she still won't admit to it.

The young woman momentarily glanced into the kitchen area. Her mother had just gotten off the phone with Kevin and was now keeping herself busy in the kitchen. If Will hadn't come in earlier, by now her mother would be serving breakfast for the entire Arcadia Police squad.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Luke's slightly hunched form and studious eyes scan over the board. Finally, he reached over to make his move; which was having his Knight capturing one of her well positioned pawns. Despite losing one of her pieces, Joan smiled at this.

After which, she feigned surprise and annoyance. After talking to the police, her brother had withdrawn back to silence. Under normal circumstances, Joan would have considered that as a miracle, for she had often quipped for Luke to stop rambling about whatever scientific odyssey that has recently turned him on. However, she was beginning to think that the old Luke wasn't so bad after all. "Hey! Not fair... can't believe your horse took my pawn thingy... piece..." She knew the actual names of the chess pieces, but for the sake of getting Luke to talk again, Joan was willing to play dumb.

However, the only reaction she received from him was silence. Joan slumped a bit into her chair, contemplating her next move not just on the chessboard, but also opening Luke up from the stupor he had placed himself in.

They continued such a pattern, with Luke succeeding a move and Joan complaining about it, for nearly fifteen minutes. Suddenly, a few moves later, she had gotten a breakthrough in a form of an inquiry.

"Do you think he knows their names?"

Not just startled by his voice, but thrown by the question itself, Joan replied, "What?"

With a nonchalant in Luke's tone and his eyes holding steady on the board game, "The murderer. Do you think he knows their names?"

Joan sat up, still puzzled by his question. She took a moment to consider it before answering with soft sincerity, "I don't know... maybe."

"I hope he does."

"Really?"

"Yep."

Feeling as if she was on her way to having a somewhat _normal_ conversation with her brother, she asked, "Why?"

He finally gazed up at her, though the look in his eyes nearly scared Joan. It was almost enough to cause her to fall off her seat, terrified. With his eyes cold and his voice threatening, he said, "Because if that bastard comes anywhere near you, I want him to know that Luke Girardi was the one that pulled the trigger."

Joan stared at Luke in shock and disbelief. She didn't know which part of his reply to fear most; the look in his eyes or his dangerous vow. Joan would have allowed a laugh -- albeit a nervous one -- to escape her lips and ease the growing tension, but Luke beat her to the punch by placing his queen a few blocks ahead on the board and abruptly jumping out of his seat to leave the room.

Her eyes followed Luke's stalking form before landing back to the chessboard. Realizing what his last move detailed, Joan reached for her black King and laid it down in its cornered position on the board. She sighed wearily and closed her eyes as she murmured, "Check mate."

_"He's just saying what we were all thinking."_

A familiar voice woke Joan from her concerned thoughts about her brother. Her eyes gazed towards the kitchen area and a relieved smile appeared on her face. "Hey, Kev."

Twenty-one year old Kevin Girardi gave a nod at his little sister as he made his way towards her. Despite having to adjust to a new way of living with a new set of wheels, due to a paralyzing accident of long ago, there were two constants in his life; his family and his role as big brother to his younger siblings. The latter is especially important now that it seems his baby sister could be in harm's way... and there was no way in hell that Kevin was going to let some deranged madman take Joan away from him.

His eyes landed on the chessboard, still disarray from earlier play. As he reached over to push the chair aside, bringing himself closer to the table, "Help me set this up."

Giving him an amused smile, "Why? You actually _want_ to play chess with me?"

"Of course..." A small smirk soon appeared on his face as he teased, "Unless you can't stand the fact of _losing_ two times in a row."

Joan gave an offended laugh at his challenge. "Oh... bring. It. On."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

A few minutes into the game passed before Kevin glanced at where Luke made his sudden exit, "He's going to be okay. Luke? He's going to be fine. You know that, right?"

Joan looked up at him before gazing back down to give a slight unsure shrug, at which Kevin continued. "He's just passed the phases of denial and optimistic point of view. Now, he's probably in at the same place that dad is in; which is defensive anger and fierce protectiveness."

"There are _phases_?" She asked in disbelief.

"Believe it or not, yeah. It's not exactly PHD psycho babble, Joan. Just common human behavior." He made a move on the board and with a softer tone, he added, "Mom called. Told me what happened this morning."

Joan nodded as she quietly spoke, "Luke... he actually touched it, y'know?" She gave a small gulp before adding, "He said it was real. Do you think that's why he said that? Why he's so angry?"

"He probably wasn't just talking about the blood." As he moved his Rook, "When he said that it was 'real', he probably meant this whole situation. I mean, last night we were all hoping that this was just one big nightmare that we needed to wake up from. There was no real logic as to why _your life_ was being threatened by a force we know nothing about. And you know Luke and logic go together like peanut butter and jelly. So of course it was easier for him to deny that this whole thing was really happening... Your move."

Joan blinked for she was too caught up in Kevin's speech. She gave an embarrassed laugh, which caused him to smile at her as she made a feeble move of her pawn.

Continuing, "I wasn't here to see his reaction. God, I wish I had been, Joan but... from what mom's told me and from what I've just seen, I have to assume that when Luke saw the actual blood on his hand... it terrified him. And not the fact that it's real, but if I were him..." Kevin gazed up and locked eyes with Joan. The look in his eyes expressed fear and pain. "It would be the _thought_ that it could very well be _your_ blood."

Joan looked away, refusing to allow her brother to see the tears in her eyes. She held back a sudden sob that was threatening to escape, but her body began to tremble at the attempt. Kevin's hand reached out to hers as he looked upon her with concern. The moment she met his gaze and saw that his eyes told her not to hide her fears did Joan allow the tears to fall.

Kevin moved closer, all chess forgotten, as he held his baby sister in his arms. He stroke her hair in a comforting manner, hushing her cries with a soothing, protective promise. "Luke and I... we won't let anything happen to you. Okay? Though we don't say it much, we love you." He gave a gentle kiss on the forehead, "I love you, squirt."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

Thirty minutes had passed and it was nearing the lunch hour... which meant that Joan Girardi only had a few minutes to sneak out of the house to meet with her best friends at a diner in downtown Arcadia.

She poked her head out of her room to check out her surroundings. After her crying session with Kevin, she took it as an opportunity to leave for her room. Though she had to admit, sobbing like so in front of her brother came as a surprise. She had originally intended that after a game or two with Kevin, she'd make an excuse to go back to bed _and then_, when no one was looking, sneak out.

Earlier, before the two chess games and during the time Luke had still locked himself in his room, Joan herself was keeping busy around the house while her mother tended to her little brother. If anything, various chores and tasks around the house served as an outlet for Joan _not_ to break down. However, as she further thought about it, her own reaction to the morning's situation, that had been kept at bay, was finally released thanks to Kevin's talk.

Prior to her talk with Kevin and around the time that Luke was non too eagerly giving his statement, Joan had also called Agent Michaels in hopes that talking to him would calm her growing tension and unease. It proved a failure upon realizing that, as the talk progressed, Michaels wasn't going to give her the answer that she was looking for.

Thus, despite Michaels's warning, Joan dialed up Adam Rove. It was all in hopes that he and the others would be her answered prayers for an escape. After informing Adam of the morning's unexpected delivery, together they began planning not just Joan's escape but also on how to go about telling this all to both Dane and Grace. Adam had suggested for the four of them to meet at this diner not too far from the Arcadia Police Department, which was a location Joan reluctantly agreed to.

Noticing that the coast was clear, the young woman began silently pacing herself down the steps and towards the living room. She would have gone the back door route had there not been an obstacle in the form of three people (her parents and Kevin) having a conversation in the kitchen. Joan docked and dodged being seen by the parental units until she nimbly cast herself in the living room. _"Eat your heart out, Tom Cruise."_ She quietly snickered at her own Mission Impossible-like style of escape.

Feeling a sense of deja vu, Joan once more pulled back the window curtains to view the outside world -- starting with her own front porch. A relieved smile played on her lips upon seeing that everything -- bloody box, police bodyguards and all -- was cleared out as soon as CSU had finished their job. She gazed at the streets and noticed -- much to her own surprise -- that there were no squad cars in sight. Joan took a moment to contemplate, sighed, then decided to take the chance at being caught by an unmarked undercover officer.

Joan slowly started towards the front door with her senses at high alert. With each step made, she glanced to the side to assure herself that her parents and Kevin were indeed unaware in the kitchen. In a moment of self victory, upon her hand finally secured around the door knob, Joan allowed a smile and a breath of relief.

However, in her state of satisfactory, Joan Girardi had dropped her guard and as she began to open the door... a hand from behind reached out for her.

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_


	8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note & Disclaimer: Usual vault rules apply: Touch not lest ye be touched... or something to that effect. IOW, I own nada. Except for some characters and the plot line but other than that... nothing! I'd also like to thank the wonderful Miles Cowin who had written an excellent book called _"Homicide Special"_. Wonderful book that helped to give me a better understanding/appreciation of police procedures and investigation of a homicide. Thanks to that book, I'm a bit more confident in writing the next chapter... which is on its way... soon. Until then, Enjoy!

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

_**Home of Will Girardi**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

She could have killed him.

She would have too...

However, thanks to human vanity, Joan Girardi decided that a cute guy like Agent Jon Michaels was worth more alive than dead.

He had snuck up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder and not just startling the young woman, but was thisclose to giving the rest of her household a heart attack were she to let out a frightened scream. Instead, her reaction allowed a stunned gasp, a whirl of her body to face her "grabber", her eyes to widen and a...

"Holy _ssh--_"

Michaels silenced her attempt at profanity by raising his brow. He watched as a flustered -- yet soon to be pissed off -- Joan Girardi collect herself. Referring to her sneaking out, he softly smirked and said, "Actions have consequences, Joan."

Realizing what he was saying, Joan nodded, though her eyes were twinkling in the same mischievous manner. "Right... so let me get this straight. _You_ scaring the hell out of me -- action." Surprising both herself and Michaels, she then reached out to administer a slap on his arm -- albeit a light one. With one more understanding, not to mention satisfying, nod, "And that was a consequence of such. Makes perfect sense. Thanks."

Michaels slightly glared at Joan, though an amused smile played on his lips while he lightly coaxed his arm. "Glad I could be of service."

Joan glanced to the side and, upon noting that her family was still preoccupied in the kitchen, anxiously tugged at Michaels's elbow. She pulled him towards the privacy of their living room. "What're you doing here?" She hissed.

"Was about to ask you the very same question, except substitute the word 'here' for '_sneaking out_.'" He softly replied as he crossed his arms. Michaels began looking down at her in the very same fashion as her father would were she faced with the dilemma of whether she would benefit more from lying or telling the truth.

"I... I-I..." She began stammering before shutting her mouth. Joan took a moment to contemplate her answer before she gazed up and gave him a feeble shrug. With a nervous laugh, "I shouldn't even bother coming up with a pathetic excuse, huh? Since you'll probably see right through my BS."

To her surprise, Michaels smirked and with an encouraging wave of his hand, "Just... humor me and give it a go. Get it out of your system. C'mon, what's your _excuse_?"

Joan looked at Michaels, then towards the door, then back at Michaels, who seemed actually _serious_ about her coming up with a lie, "I... I..." With a timid shrug and a meek smile, "I. Was... getting the newspaper?"

His eyes remained on her, though he gave a silent nod to continue.

"_Getting_ the _newspaper_..." She repeated herself, but slowly trailed off in realizing that there's no way she can get away with a lie. At least not with Michaels. With a punctured reluctance per phrase, "At a diner... downtown... with some friends?"

"So," Michaels smiled all too amusingly at Joan, which slightly irritated her. "You were going downtown... with your friends... to a diner. Just to get a _newspaper_?"

She glared up at him, "Okay, Mr. Polygraph, you had your fun. Now may I please be excused to... _pick up my paper_?" She added with a teasing smirk, "Gonna check out the classifieds to see if there are any jobs that don't involve dealing with annoying government agents."

"Good luck with that," He chuckled before seriously adding, "And no, you may not. At least not until you let your parents know of your... _job hunting_ aspirations." That last part Michaels threw in with another smirk.

She gaped at him before replying, "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because they won't let me go! Not with a psycho on the loose and after this morning's literally bloody disaster!"

Michaels shook his head, "Nope. You can't use that type of reasoning, Joan."

"Why not?" She challenged, "It's true."

"Exactly." He looked at her dead in the eye, "Because that's also the type of logic _I'd use_ into stopping you from going." Softening his gaze, "But I'm not going to stop you. You're a young _somewhat_ mature _adult_ and..." He added, with a reluctant grin, "I also have this _thing_ about a person's free will."

Despite herself, Joan scoffed with laugh, "You're not the only one, trust me."

"Right... so now _trust me_. Tell your parents, Joan."

_"Tell us **what**?"_

Both Michaels and Joan turned their attention towards the Southern voice coming from behind them. Joan glanced from between both her curious and expecting parents to Michaels. The young agent raised a questioning brow, as if silently asking, _"What are you going to do now?"_

To which she reluctantly sighed. "Fine. You win..." She mumbled to him before putting on a charming smile towards her parents.

"Mom... Dad... See, there's something I _have to_ ask you..."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"You didn't have to do it."

Michaels gave a modest shrug as he held open the car door for Joan. Before stepping in, she spied a thick three ring binder on the front seat of his Porsche, to which he reached over to casually toss it into a cardboard box sitting behind the driver seat. "Hop on in, Miss Girardi."

As soon as they were both settled in and Michaels began backing his car out of the driveway, Joan continued, "I mean it. You didn't have to lie for me. Telling my parents that you wanted to take me out for lunch..."

He glanced over at her with a surprised look, "Who said that I was lying?" Michaels flicked the radio on and adjusted its volume, while Joan gazed over at him with a confused expression on her young face.

As she reached over to lower the music, "But you told my dad--"

"I specifically told them that you wanted to get something to eat and that I was going to drive you to this diner downtown for lunch." He reached over once more, resuming the original volume of his radio.

"Right..." She nodded and, unintentionally, lowered the volume.

As Michaels began explaining, he pumped the music back up. With classical rock coming through the speakers, "So which scenario sounds a lot more acceptable for parents whose daughter is being targeted by a serial killer; Said daughter asking if she can leave the house _alone_ to go downtown and meet her friends for lunch? Or an older authority figure in good graces with said daughter's father asking if he may be allowed to accompany her downtown for lunch. _And_ if said daughter's friends happen to be at the same diner, we'll just chalk it up to mere coincidence."

He took an intended pause, allowing Joan to digest his words, before adding, "And try not to lower the volume from its designated level."

Joan tossed him a smirk, "Well, how are we suppose to hold a descent conversation while you're having the Golden Oldies blasting in the background?"

"The _Golden Oldies_ are _golden_ for a reason, Joan."

"And how old are you, exactly?"

Michaels softly chuckled, "Old enough..."

Much of the drive downtown soon lapsed between comfortable silences and a random jab at each other here and there. Joan still didn't know what it was about Michaels that attracted her attention. With him, she felt... ease?... comfortable?... safe? Or maybe it was a mixture of all those things plus other emotions that she hadn't felt since the last time she was with--

The car came to a halt, causing Joan to break her thoughts. She gazed out the window and noticed that they were at a Post Office. Before she turned her head to ask Michaels what they were doing here, the agent opened his door. As he stepped out, "There's a special _order_ that's suppose to arrive soon. Just going to check if it came in today."

With a nod of her head, "Okay."

Michaels added with a wink before taking his leave, "And remember what I said about the radio."

Joan mock saluted him, laughing, "Yes, sir!" However, the moment that Michaels stepped inside the building, she reached over and lowered it a couple of notches. Grateful that he left the engine running, allowing the cool AC to wash over her, Joan laid her head back and gently closed her eyes.

A few seconds passed before she opened her eyes and began curiously checking out his car. "Well, technically not _his car_... though I wonder what he actually does drive." Joan mused as she removed her seat belt so that she had more room to poke around. It took a minute or two for the young woman to realize that the real goods were found not in the front half of the Porsche, but in the back... in that box she had spied earlier before getting in.

Noticing that the black three ring binder, that had been on her seat earlier, was the only thing that stood out, Joan reached for the thick binder and sat back to browse through it...

"Oh my God..."

A photograph of eighteen year old Vanessa Gales smiled up at Joan. It was a smile that Joan could have sworn possessing herself on the good days. Vanessa was sitting on a swing, her eyes thoughtful and her grin sparkling under the sunlight. Next to that photograph were random notes and lists. Mostly personal information (from birth date, place of residents, family and friends, daily routines) about the young woman whose true beauty will remain frozen in the photograph.

A page or so over, Harriet Gaines. Harriet had her arms wrapped around a little girl, possibly her sister, and not older than thirteen years old. Both brunettes sported the same ponytail and brilliant carefree smile. Next to her photograph also held personal notes and information about the young woman.

The pages gave way to more photographs of young women. Girls that -- Joan realized to her dismay -- were the unfortunate victims.

Helena Gibson -- Though the look in her eyes held much reluctance and annoyance -- a look Joan often found in her best friend, Grace Polk -- there was no mistaking the pride shining though her smile as the young woman held up her high school diploma.

Odina Gold -- She obviously had gotten her brilliant smile from her father. Rabbi Gold had his arm around his beautiful daughter. Though he was grinning at the camera, Odina was beaming adoringly at her father. It was at this photograph that caused a lump in Joan's throat, for it was a reminder of her own relationship with Will.

Agnes Gabriel -- There was an aura of innocence around Agnes. The settings looked to be a hospital and Agnes was surrounded by many children. Little boys and girls that through their bleak mortality, their own eyes sparkled with so much life. And Agnes stood right in the middle of such a miraculous sight. Is it any wonder why Agnes herself resembled that of a young Mother Theresa?

Edna Gregory -- Sitting at a desk, one hand on the keyboard while the other gave a small wave, Edna tossed a timid, even bashful, smile at the camera. Her eyeglasses were propped on her head, while her hair was neatly prim in a simply ponytail. In her humble appearance, Edna symbolized a perfect combination of brains and beauty.

Joan flipped two pages after Edna Gregory's profile... thus stumbling onto her own. To her stunned silence, she began staring at not just her personal information, but of herself. The photograph was taken during a family outing one Fall afternoon, to a lake park a few miles from home. It was an impromptu photo opportunity of Will carrying Joan over his shoulder. All for a bold attempt at stopping her from catching the football that Kevin had tossed her way. Despite it all, team Joan and Kevin triumphed over team Will and Luke with the score of 17-9. It was a beautiful day and it obviously showed in that photograph.

She stared at that picture, confused as to how it had come in Michaels's possession. Logical explanations ran through her head, mainly that in the form of her father knowingly giving it to him. However, that didn't quite explain as to _why_ he had it and _what_ this binder was about... that is, until a slip of paper fell from between the pages and into plain sight.

In what Joan could assume as Michaels's handwriting:

**VANESSA GALES = lamb -- death  
****HARRIET GAINES = lamb -- death  
****HELENA GIBSON = lamb -- death  
****ODINA GOLD = lamb -- death  
****AGNES GABRIEL = lamb -- death  
****EDNA GREGORY = lamb -- death  
****JOAN GIRARDI = lamb -- alter/ALIVE**

**V H H O A E J --- J E H O V A H  
****Jehovah --- _one of god's name_**

**Gales Gaines Gibson Gold Gabriel Gregory Girardi  
****G = GOD**

**lamb = Joan Girardi --- God _???_**

Joan didn't know why, but the paper started to tremble. It wasn't until she realized that its cause began with her own hand shaking. She dropped the slip, watched it flutter to the floor before laying gaze upon her trembling hands. Her heart started to beat at a furious pace, her breathing not far behind in the race. Why was she shaking?

That familiar claustrophobic feeling washed over, filling her with a desperate need to escape. Was it not last night that she felt this way? The cause for such a need in the form of discovery that her life was threatened.

Fear. Confusion. Anger. Doubt... and now, especially as her eyes rested upon the black binder in her lap, suspicion. More so now that she began to wonder; Why does Michaels have all this information?

The extremely logical side of her brain tried to reason with her paranoia. Explaining that Michaels is an officer. No, he's more than that... he's a government agent sworn by the law to protect people. Innocent people. People like _you_, Joan Girardi.

_That's what Michaels **is**_... Her fear snipped at her reasoning. _But that doesn't answer _**why** he has this binder!

Like a bitter debate that could only end with both sides in disagreement. _Gathering information! That's what investigators do! You're father does it, why not Michaels? Especially if it'll help solve the case faster. Catch the bad guy sooner._

_How?_

_How else? Finding clues. Discovering patterns. Even thinking like the bad guy would help the good guys in the long run. Because it could trace them towards the next victim._

Joan's eyes landed once more on the pages of the binder. Her hands delicately tracing over each smiling victim's face. Looking at not just the women's faces, but also at the little trivias and nuances that define who they were and the lives they've led. Personal information that no outsider could know... _Unless they took the time to know them... like Michaels is taking the time to know _**you**. Her fear hissed at Joan, sending a chill down her spine.

She tossed the binder back in the box, as if its mere presence was beginning to burn in her hands. She shook her head to clear her mind from such accusations and paranoia. Joan wouldn't allow herself to go crazy over this. It was bad enough that her brother snapped, and it would do her family no good to have her sanity just as lost as Luke's own.

Joan would not permit herself to suspect that Michaels, who she had come to undoubtedly trust, could be the--

The driver door swung open, startling Joan to snap her head in that direction. Michaels, smiling his humble boyish smile, slid into the seat. With a nod and a tired sigh, "Killer."

"What?" Joan's voice squeaked, which earned a raised look from the agent.

"The line." He nodded towards the post office building. "The line in there is a killer. Sorry I took so long, Joan." He added with an apologetic grin.

As he restarted the vehicle, Joan feigned a nonchalant laugh. "Oh... That's-- that's fine. It's okay..." With her hands still trembling, a motion which she silently prayed for control over, she reached to tug on her seat belt.

Joan could feel Michaels's eyes on her. She glanced back at him and found that he was regarding her with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief. She tossed him a small -- albeit nervous -- smile before turning her gaze towards the open road. Joan was searching for words to break the uncomfortable silence that was settling upon them...

When the passenger door suddenly clicked and locked itself into place.

_"What're you doing?!"_

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

_**Arcadia Police Department -- Squad Room**_

_**April 15, 2006 -- Saturday**_

"Hey, Sam?"

Rita Samstone glanced over her shoulder, tossing an acknowledgment to her partner. With her back facing him as Rita continued setting up the case board, "Yeah?"

David Christian rustled through one of the boxes they had brought with them from Los Angeles. "You seen the murder book anywhere?"

The compiling of the murder book -- David considered -- was both a pain in the ass, tedious task and a blessed necessity. By definition, the murder book was a standard three-ring binder that summarizes a homicide case. Consisting of all the data gathered throughout the investigation (from evidence lists to photographs, statements and diagrams), the binder was of importance especially when it came to serial homicides. In this particularly huge case, started by Agent Michaels and now assisted by David and Rita, the investigators decided to divide the murder book up to various sections.

One in which profiled all the victims... including potential victims. Or in this case, potential vic_tim_.

"Which part?" Was Rita's reply as she joined David's side. She watched as David began picking up the various black binders present and flipping through each one.

"The vics." Not finding the particular book, "Don't tell me that Junior, who spent majority of the plane ride putting that section together, managed to lose it."

"Ye of little faith, Chris." Rita clucked her tongue in mock disappointment. As she returned to the board, "Relax, alright? He didn't lose it. Michaels has it with him in his car."

David sat himself on the desk and crossed his arms, "Why exactly?"

"Why _what_?" Rita bit back an exasperated sigh to opt for a gentle rolling of her eyes.

"Why does he have it with him? Junior's not the only one working on this investigation."

"Y'know," Rita turned to face David, her eyes glaring suspiciously at him. "What _I_ want to know is _why_ do you have it out for Michaels?"

"I thought we've been over this."

"Yeah, we have. I've made it clear that we should work together instead of _against_ each other... but since you insist on beating this horse way past submission..."

David looked down, his arms still crossed. It took a moment, as Rita patiently waited, for David to reply with an answer. He gazed back up at Rita and with a sincere nonchalance, "He reminds me of my father."

That answer certainly threw Rita off. The detective bit her lower lip, contemplating whether or not this was the right time to inform David of Dean's presence in Arcadia. An hour or so ago, as the partners met up in front of the Girardi residence, David was briefly informed of the St. Joseph's incident. While Michaels had headed inside, Rita took it upon herself to bring David up-to-date. She had mostly told him everything... _mostly_. Exception being that she kept the identity of one of St. Joseph's parish priests. Rita decided, at the last moment, that this information was best given to David -- who was extremely sensitive when it came to his family, on or off the job -- later that evening, once they were off the clock.

"I don't understand..." Was all she could muster without giving too much emotion. Just enough to reveal sincere confusion and concern.

With a shrug, "Michaels.... he has this _look_. This-- this _knowing look_ in his eyes. Like he just _knows_ something that either we don't know, or we won't know until later on."

Rita nodded, silently encouraging David to continue. She knew of the look he was speaking about, often or not taking note of it herself.

David's eyes glazed over, as if he was looking far and away into the distance. With remorse in his voice that quickly hardened, "After the accident -- y'know, _the_ accident? The one that occurred before I was born? The one that had left father clinically dead for seven minutes? -- he had _that look_. And I hated it. Because when daddy dearest wasn't giving his sons that 'I know something you don't know' look, the bastard would be off preaching some random biblical apocalyptic BS that I could give a damn about."

"And that's why you're giving Michaels a hard time? Because he looks at you the same way that your father used to? David, it's _just_ a look. We're all capable of giving knowing looks once in a while."

David jumped up from his seat, once more tossing a nonchalant shrug. He turned his back on Rita for a moment as he dug into the box for a file. Just as Rita opened her mouth with words of comfort, David spoke up with a bitter laugh.

"For eighteen years, I've lived with that look. Day in and day out. It's not just the look itself, Rita... but the _knowledge_ behind it. Live under its gaze long enough and you'll learn to sense the truth behind the look. I didn't like what I saw behind my father's eyes... and I sure as hell don't like what I'm sensing behind Michaels's." David picked up the manila folder he was searching for. He gazed into it, then asked as an afterthought, "By the way, where is he?"

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_

"What're you doing?!"

Joan cried at the abrupt nature of the door locks clicking into place. She grasped the door handle and began to tug at it. Fear swept through her body as her panic-filled gaze met with Michaels's surprised and concerned own.

Michaels held a defensive hand up, and with a small smile, "I..." He gently moved back, allowing her to notice the automatic lock button on the door, "I accidentally brushed my elbow against the button while trying to put my seat belt on. I'm sorry, Joan... Did I startle you?"

It took a moment for this to register. And once it did, Joan felt a blush start to rise on her face. She didn't say anything except to give an embarrassed laugh.

"Are you okay?" Michaels asked, smiling at her laughter though still gazing at her with concern.

She immediately despised her paranoia. "I'm... I'm okay." Seeing that he wasn't exactly buying her line. "Michaels, I'm fine... _Really_. I- I think that my mind's just playing tricks on me. With everything that's been happening lately... I just need to something to eat and to see my friends."

Though Michaels didn't say anything, his silence and the look that he was giving her spoke volumes. They continued to drive on in silence. An awkward stillness at that.

Soon enough -- much to Joan's relief -- the APD came into view. A minute or so later, as they drove further down a block, they arrived at Ava's Diner -- a quaint city diner that most people, from the lawyers and cops to average Joe's, consider as a second home. Kevin had introduced Joan and her friends to the little establishment. They enjoyed not just the food but the warmth the place brought. So much so that Adam, most particularly, would often suggest grabbing a bite from there.

Grace was quick to note that it was because Adam had developed a "child-like fascination" to the diner's head waitress, Debbie. A nice woman in her mid-forties that, both Grace and Joan noticed, seemed to have gain not just the fondness of young Rove, but also of Rove _Senior_. Thus spawning off more good humored jokes from the girls and insisting that Adam might get his wish in seeing Debbie beyond the waitress attire and into something more... _motherly_.

A wide grin spread on Joan's face at the thought of her friends waiting inside. She could imagine her beloved trio of companions. Adam was probably away from the table and talking to Debbie, who often spent most of her time fixing up the counter for the next batch of customers. Joan knew that ever since Adam's mother passed away, he had been looking to find a sort of substitute to fill that void in his heart. A year or two ago, Adam had found part of it in her own mother, and Arcadia High art teacher, Helen. However, even Helen's presence didn't feel _exactly_ what Adam needed... until he had met Deborah Potter. Since meeting her, Joan had noticed a spark in Adam's eyes that she had never seen before. Grace had explained that she had seen that look a long time ago... that it was almost similar to that same adoring gaze he'd give his own mother before Elizabeth Rove died.

And while Adam was striking up conversations with Debbie, Joan figured that Grace and Dane had probably found themselves, yet again, in a heated debate over the silliest of matters. While Dane joked about serious issues like war, government and politics, Grace had passionate things to say about almost _anything_. Having the two together, with nothing to do _but_ talk, was like holding a barrel of gun powder over an open flame. Without the presence of Joan or Adam to lighten the mood, there's no telling how explosive their conversations would end up! At the thought of a possible outburst waiting to blow inside of that diner, Joan couldn't help but smile at the familiar distraction.

"Jeanne d'Arc."

Her hand had been on the door handle, her body in an eager position to jump out of the car and head towards the diner. However, the moment that Michaels spoke that particular name, Joan's entire form came to a sudden halt. Her body tensed up and her eyes landed on the agent, who had this small smile on his face. His voice was nonchalant, yet had this knowing edge that threw Joan off.

"What?"

"Also known as Joan of Arc." This time when he spoke, Michaels eyes locked onto her.

Hesitant, "What-- what about her?" Joan removed her grasp on the door handle and soon found herself leaning back on the seat.

He shrugged, "I... I just thought about her. Actually, I thought of her because of you. Or, at least because of _your name_." He added with a quiet awe and reverence, "As I recall, she was quite an extraordinary young woman."

"Because... she talked to God?"

Michaels thoughtfully looked away before responding with a wistful grin, "That... and what she had done for her country. What she had to sacrifice and, ultimately, die for." He paused, then continued, "And technically, she didn't _literally_ hold conversations with God."

His last sentence perked Joan's interest, causing her to ask "What do you mean?"

"Jeanne," He started, using d'Arc's real name which Joan herself found interesting, "According to the legend, she received messages from saints and angels. Like Saint Catherine, Margaret, Michael... According to legend, through their messages from saints and angels _on behalf_ _of_, obviously, God, Jeanne set out to fight for her beloved France."

Joan regarded Michaels before expressing her confusion out loud. "What are you trying to say? Are-- are you... you're not thinking that," a nervous laugh escaped her lips, "That because my name is _Joan_, I talk to God."

The agent gave her a small smile as he gazed at her in amusement. He took a thoughtful pause before replying, "If you use that sort of logic, then I'm right to assume that I'm as much as an archangel as my name is Michaels... right?"

"I don't understand..."

Michaels looked towards the diner, "You better get inside, Joan. Don't want to keep your friends waiting."

Without warning, Michaels leaned towards her, which startled Joan to press herself against the seat. She watched with flush cheeks upon realizing that he had only meant to open the door for her. "You sure you're okay?" He asked once he moved away from her.

She nodded her head in a silent reply. Joan couldn't exactly give him an honest enough answer. For it was an answer that basically screamed suspicion and doubt, and she was pretty sure that the agent wouldn't respond well to such accusations.

As Joan slowly stepped outside, Michaels tossed her -- what she hoped was-- a sincere smile. In an ironic twist, he warned, "Unless you know them well, you can't trust anyone... So be careful, Joan."

_**JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA-/-JoA**_


End file.
